



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Cliap7?Z.5Copyright No. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 


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THE 


SECRET OF THE CAJfON. 


Rev. ADAM STUMP, A. M. 





LUTHERAN PUBLICATION SOCIETY. 

fVVOCOPlFH RECtlVED- 




2nd COPY, 
1898. 




Copyright, 1898, 

BY THE 

I^UTHERAN PUBLICATION SOCIETY. 


HOME MISSIONARIES AND THEIR WIVES, 

Who, in All Branches of the Church of Christ, 

FROM PLYMOUTH ROCK TO THE GOLDEN GATE, 

Are so Faithfully and at Such Great Self-Sacrifice, 

DOING GOD’S WORK, 

THIS HUMBLE BOOK 
IS 


SYMPATHETICALLY DEDICATED. 


PRELUDE 


They come from icy Norway, 

From Sweden’s rocky strand, 

And at Columbia’s doorway 
Find freedom’s Holy Land; 

From Denmark’s coastbound waters, 
From Finland’s wintry dome, 
Germania’s sons and daughters — 
From Luther lands they roam. 

O’er all the rolling prairies. 

In ev’ry sleeping dale, 

On plain beneath the eyries, 

In town and mountain vale. 

There brothers true are dwelling. 
Upon the sod they love, 

With floods around them swelling. 
Like Noah’s coteless dove. 

They call to us, their brothers. 

For sympathy and aid; 

Yea, fathers and kind mothers. 

The youth and gentle maid; 

For temple and for altar 
Of their ancestral creed. 

And marvel that we falter 
At this their crying need. 

O ye, with blessings falling 
As dust from golden-rod, 

O, heed their earnest calling 
For temples of our God; 

O, from your well-filled coffers 
Lend silver to the Lord, 

And be the hand that proffers 
The Sacrament and Word. 


PREFACE. 


This book is an effort to describe the genesis 
and evolution of a mission-congregation on the 
western frontier. The author has made no at- 
tempt to write a novel. Nor does he want this 
product of his pen to be, in any sense, regarded as 
a pure work of fiction. It simply is a compilation 
of facts in the form of a narrative. It was hoped 
in this way to make interesting a subject which, in 
its matter-of-fact statements, usually is considered 
the very opposite. In concrete form a series of in- 
cidents in home-mission experience, which really 
happened, and can easily be paralleled in various 
regions, is here presented in such a manner as to 
afford a panoramic and life-like picture of a great, 
but too little appreciated, work for humanity. 

Only more or less real persons appear in these 
pages. Of course, their identity is hidden. Their 
actual names are not even suggested. Nor can it 
be denied that the halo of idealization has been 
thrown about their real character. The charm of 
romanticism was too irresistible. Several of these 
(v) 


VI 


preface. 


characters are composite — being a combination of 
two or three actual ones. 

As will readily be discovered, Canon City is a 
creation. It is given all the qualities of a typical 
western town. But the principal events narrated 
in these pages are facts of Nebraska history and 
church chronicle, all of which can readily be sub- 
stantiated, either by living witnesses or authori- 
tative documents. 

It is but fair to state that the author is intimately 
acquainted with many frontier missionaries and 
pioneer settlers, and has personally inspected their 
life with its peculiar environments. Hence he was 
under no necessity to draw upon his imagination 
for the materials of this book. He therefore pre- 
sents it in the hope that it may help to increase an 
interest in a phase of benevolence which ought to 
be dear to every patriot, as well as every lover of 
humanity. 

The only reasons why the author has chosen a 
Lutheran mission as the typical one, are, first, be- 
cause no other church has such an immense re- 
sponsibility, or opportunity, in this line of work, 
and, secondly, because the Lutheran denomination 
is the one with whose operations he is best ac- 
quainted. But these pages are meant to be abso- 
lutely without bias toward any branch of that faith 


preface. 


Vll 


and without an iota of prejudice against any Chris- 
tian church or confession. He has simply stated 
the facts as they are. All the great denominations 
have done good deeds in the West. The author 
would not belittle that of the least. 

If in this realistic presentation of frontier-life, 
which forms the environment of the Church’s de- 
velopment, things have been mentioned, or lan- 
guage quoted, which the reader, perhaps, may not 
consider to be suitable or edifying to the young, he 
will, please, attribute such supposed faults to the 
author’s judgment, not to his heart. But it is 
doubtful whether a true knowledge of facts ever 
can do harm. Yet the author has suppressed 
many, because he thought they might injure. He 
had in view no other object than that of making 
virtue lovely and sin hideous. 

May this little book be blessed of God in the 
holy cause of winning America for Christ. 

The Author. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


CHAPTER I. 

Prairie Schooners ii 

CHAPTER II. 

Graves on the Prairie 20 

CHAPTER HI. 

The Homestead 31 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Sabbath without the Sanctuary 41 

CHAPTER V. 

The Birth of a City 59 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Windmiei, 70 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Pioneer’s Journey . 86 

CHAPTER VHI. 

The Beizzard 106 

(viii) 


CONTENTS. ix 

PAGE 

CHAPTER IX. 

TwiN-SiStERS OR CIVII.IZATION 120 

CHAPTER X. 

The Georious Fourth 133 

CHAPTER XI. 

The Boom 148 

CHAPTER XH. 

Warwhoops and Tomahawks • 162 

CHAPTER XIII. 

The Pioneer’s Last Tour 176 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Battue 193 

CHAPTER XV. 

The Hunt 205 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Among the Buttes 222 

CHAPTER XVII. 

‘ ‘ Like a Peeican or the Wiederness ” 239 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

The Cyceone 257 

CHAPTER XIX. 

The Frontier Picnic. 


277 


X 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 


CHAPTER XX. 

Eights and Shadows 295 

CHAPTER XXL 

Thh Red Man’s Revenge 315 

CHAPTER XXH. 

Last Geimpses 332 


CHAPTER 1. 


PRAIRIE SCHOONERS. 

The Platte river runs the whole length of the 
State of Nebraska through a plain almost as flat as 
a table. Its two branches start in the Rocky 
Mountains, and, after meeting at the town of 
North Platte, flow as one stream, which, three hun- 
dred miles further east, empties into the Missouri. 
Not so much as a paddle-boat is ever seen upon it. 
Some wit has said that not even a catfish could 
navigate it without getting stranded on a sandbar. 
Another has remarked that it would be consider- 
able of a stream if it were turned up edgewise. 

The Platte is wide and shallow. It is full of 
sand, which is forever so shifting from place to 
place that little islands are constantly being 
formed, and as constantly being washed away 
again. It is, on this account, a dangerous stream 
to ford, as many a frontiersman has, to his sorrow, 
found out. It has no visible banks, and hence 
cannot easily be seen until one almost steps into it. 
But few trees skirt its sides. 

(II) 


12 


THE SECRET OE THE CAf^ON. 


The great plain through which it flows is very 
wide at the mouth, but narrows toward its source, 
and is bordered by sand-hills on the north and clay- 
blufis on the south. Before the year 1842, when 
Fremont made his famous expedition to Pike’s 
Peak, little was known of this great plain. He 
followed the line of the river on the south side 
and thus traced a way upon which afterwards sixty 
thousand people yearly used to emigrate west- 
ward — some mad for gold, others eager for land 
and homes. 

In the year 1847 Mormons followed the 
same plain toward the setting sun. This route 
was close enough to the river to have a supply of 
water and far enough from the bluffs to keep clear 
of the Indians, who, at the time we are writing of, 
were lurking enemies that might be met almost 
anywhere in these regions. 

This magnificent savanna is now dotted with 
farms and lined with railroad towns, like a string 
of beads, all along the river. But this was not the 
case on the loth of August, 1864. Then but few 
human habitations were visible, and near the city 
of Omaha a gang of Pawnee Indians, for so many 
sacks of flour and so many hams as wages, were 
grading the first few miles of the Union Pacific 
Railroad. 


PRAIRIE SCHOONERS. 


13 


On that day a procession of thirty “prairie 
schooners ” was threading its way along the south 
side of the Platte. These were simply common 
wagons covered with a canvas stretched over 
wooden bows fastened in the side-boards. A bed 
was made in the rear ; a small stove, the pipe of 
which was sticking out of the top, was fixed in the 
middle. Provisions, cooking utensils, and other 
household goods, were packed in or hung on the 
outside, dangling as from a moving tin-shop. 
Cows or horses were tied to the end-gate, while 
calves or colts frisked along-side of their mothers. 
The men would walk beside the horses, or oxen, 
hitched to the “ schooner,” while the women and 
smaller children would ride. This was then the 
only mode of traveling in that part of our country. 
Many still prefer it. It is not unusual, even yet, 
to see such movers, or “homesteaders,” passing 
over the plains when the thermometer registers 
ten degrees below zero. Truly this is gypsy-life 
with a vengeance, of which the reality sternly 
hides the poetry. Yet some seem to enjoy it and 
get into the habit of following it as a mode of life, 
never staying longer anywhere than is necessary 
to raise one crop, and then again seeking new 
squatting-places. 

In the case already referred to, almost every 


14 the secret of the caK^on. 

“schooner’’ contained a family which was moving 
to the far West. Some of them had come as far as 
Omaha on the cars and had there bought teams. 
But some of them had started with their “ schoon- 
ers” in Illinois, Indiana and Kentucky, and had 
already traveled a thousand miles in this manner. 
None had ever seen the others before they came 
together for this journey. Some regarded their 
meeting as an accident, others looked upon it as 
the result of Providence, while still others never 
gave it any thought at all. They numbered one 
hundred and twenty souls. 

As we shall meet some of them again, we will 
pass along this wagon-train and seek an introduc- 
tion to at least a few. 

This first family of father and mother, with 
their four children, traveling with two large iron- 
gray horses, are the Benders, from Pennsylvania. 
Jacob Bender had been out West before, having 
spent twenty years there. After having been away 
all that time working at the carpenter’s trade until 
he became a contractor, going back east on a visit, 
he had found “Mary” as true as he had been. 
So a marriage took place in the quiet little village. 
They would have gone West before, but “ Mary ” 
always declared she would not go thither as long 
as her mother lived. That good woman lived 


PRAIRIE SCHOONERS. 


15 


thirteen years after “Mary’s” wedding day, when 
she was laid away in the church-yard of the neigh- 
borhood in which she had resided all her life. 
Now Mrs. Bender felt free to go, and as her hus- 
band had never felt contented in the East, they 
started on the journey on which we find them. It 
was a serious undertaking for people of their age. 
But they did it for their children. The oldest is a 
boy twelve years of age, named Samuel. The 
next is Ruth, a sweet young girl, with dark-brown 
curly hair falling down in ringlets upon her shoul- 
ders. Her eyes are blue as the sky, and she is ten. 
The third is a little boy, with blue eyes and light 
hair, and kind, pale face, seven years old. His 
name is “Ollie,” or Oliver. The baby is three, 
and knows himself as “Marti Huter,” or Martin 
Euther. 

The next group we will get acquainted with is a 
number of Scandinavians, who have come over the 
sea. This one is a Norwegian family, whose 
name is Opsal. It is composed of a man and wife 
and a little girl with auburn hair and blue eyes, 
called Thea. Her ruddy face is full of smiles, and 
she is trying to spell, even now, the words of an 
English primer. 

This other is a family of Swedes, Eindborg by 
name, whose two-year-old baby is beginning to 


1 6 THE SECRET OF THE CANON. 

answer the call of Hulda. Here is also a family 
from Denmark, whose two children are Olaf Han- 
sen, aged twelve, and his sister Christina, aged 
eight. This last is a German family, named 
Kahn, with four children — Herman, Theresa, 
Hans and Dorothea. A common feature of all 
these foreign children is that every one of them 
has light hair and eyes, high cheeks and wide fore- 
head, giving their faces a broad appearance. 
Otherwise they look as bright and sweet as any. 

The people whom we have thus far noticed all 
profess the Lutheran faith in sincerity. But be- 
sides these, there are many others in this caravan 
moving on in the clouds of dust, which the horses 
and cattle are raising. About one- third of them 
are Americans. Among them is a family, by the 
name of Clarke, whose little daughter Eva, about 
nine years of age, is very sick. A doctor whose 
name is Porter, and a lawyer, both young men, are 
traveling together in a wagon. Strange to say, 
the doctor is in search of health. So is Miss 
Smiley, a brave young school teacher, from New 
England. She is driving alone. Another indi- 
vidual, a Yankee merchant, by the surname of 
Snide, is in this company. This schooner in the 
rear contains an Irish family, whose name is Mc- 
Cabe. That honest-faced girl, with large hazel 


PRAIRIE SCHOONERS. 


17 


eyes and long black hair, is Nora McCabe. She is 
almost a young woman, though only fourteen 
years of age. She has her regular hours for 
prayer on this journey, and wonders why these 
Protestants, the first she has ever seen, do not like- 
wise. 

The last of our new acquaintances is a minister 
on horseback, though the rest do not know him as 
such. In stature he is medium, but strongly built, 
his eyes large and tender, his black hair sprinkled 
with white. He is older than he looks, though 
not yet sixty. He usually rides ahead of the rest 
by himself, and seems much absorbed in his own 
thoughts. His quick-footed pony is almost cov- 
ered by the large saddle and leathern bag that is 
thrown over him. 

How wonderful that such a motley crowd should 
thus come together on such a journey. Yet this 
was but a repetition of what happened a thousand 
times in those days. Millions of people in peaceful 
emigration! This would have been a miracle in 
past ages. The over-crowded old world sends its 
superfluous multitudes into the new, to develop 
here, under the blue arch of freedom, both religion 
and civilization into a condition of perfection 
which neither before had known. To be where 
not one, but all, could rule ; where not a few only, 
2 


l8 THE SECRET OF THE CAfJON. 

but all could comfortably live, aud where each 
could worship and speak as the individual con- 
science dictated, this is the reason they came — 
though many never lost sight of the “loaves and 
fishes.” 

The day was now far spent. Musing on these 
things. Dr. Porter, while the people were getting 
ready for the night, was walking up the nearest 
bluff to watch the sunset. The western sky was 
lit up with roseate glory. The young man stood 
there gazing upon the beautiful scene until the 
king of day had passed through the gates of fire 
into the Hesperian wonderland. 

The murmur of voices and the sounds of prepa- 
ration were wafted up from the camp below. The 
hot day was followed by the breezes of a cool even- 
ing. The musical doctor had brought his cornet 
with him. This he now put to his lips and re- 
galed the company with some delightful strains. 
“Annie Laurie” rolled along the valley like the 
soft cadences of an invisible orchestra in the 
amphitheatre of the hills. “ Columbia, the Gem of 
the Ocean” brought a cheer from several Ameri- 
cans in the camp. The “Mocking Bird” startled 
a hawk and a dozen buzzards which had settled on 
the high ground during the interlude. Yankee 
Snide and a few like him were the only ones who 


PRAIRIE SCHOONERS. 


19 


were insensible to the doctor’s melodies. They 
were busy shuffling cards and drinking whiskey. 

Dr. Porter, with bared head, on his elevated 
vantage point, would have enjoyed himself still 
longer, but moving figures several miles toward 
the south made him feel that he had ventured out 
long enough. Those horsemen might be foes as 
well as friends. 

As he left the enchanting scene which had so 
fascinated his romantic nature, he repeated to him- 
self the oft-quoted prophecy of Bishop Berkeley : 

“ Westward the course of empire takes its way ; 

The four first acts already past, 

A fifth shall close the drama with the day ; 

Time’s noblest offspring is the last.’* 


CHAPTER 11. 


GRAVES ON THE PRAIRIE. 

Our friends had left Omaha a week ago. They 
had come about two hundred miles and were ap- 
proaching the region of Plum Creek. Another 
train had preceded them only one day. Every 
evening they would come to the place where those 
had camped the night before. They would still 
find the smoking embers which had boiled their 
coffee and the cobs of the corn which their horses 
had munched. 

During the day, which we have described, the 
motherly eye of Mrs. Bender had discovered, she 
thought, a few moving forms far off on the bluffs 
to the left. She did not feel right about the mat- 
ter, but said nothing. She was not certain of 
being correct and did not want to appear timid. 
Wonderful maternal instinct ! 

Just then a body of Sioux Indians were shadow- 
ing this very train and failed to attack it only be- 
cause it was so large. Eater they met a smaller 
one further on. The next day, after having trav- 
(20) 


GRAVES ON THE PRAIRIE. 


21 


eled about fifteen miles, the front teamsters sud- 
denly stopped their horses. This often had hap- 
pened. Sometimes a swingle-tree would break, or 
hamestring unfasten, or a woman get out to walk 
for a change, and such an occurrence would for a 
moment stop the whole line. But what is the 
matter now? Why do all the people now gaze 
straight ahead, whither the minister is pointing ? 
He is explaining that he sees a commotion of men 
that seem to be soldiers. At least he can descry 
carbines glistening in the sun. The rest, standing 
up on horses and wagons, discern the same, but no 
one can decide what they are doing. Every heart 
beats faster. Each one fears evil. 

The minister, whose name none yet know and 
whose calling only a few have guessed, rides upon 
an eminence. There he is able to conclude that 
“the boys in blue,^’ are employed in some peace- 
ful occupation. He beckons to the others and 
moves forward. All hopefully and revivingly fol- 
low. In a short time they came to the place of 
interest. Wagon tires and smoking pieces of 
wheels were scattered all around. In several spots 
the grass was stained with blood. Everywhere 
were signs of a struggle. A company of cavalry 
and some frontiersmen with broad-brimmed hats 
were engaged in closing eleven graves. _ 


22 


THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 


‘^Had you a battle with Indians!” asked the 
minister of the Captain. 

“No, sir; there was a massacre here yesterday 
of a whole wagon-train of people, and, after 
slaughtering the owners, the Indians took the 
horses and burned the wagons. 

“Were there any women among these slain ?’^ 

“Not any,” replied the Captain. 

“But,” said the minister, “there were two 
women in that train. I saw them leave Omaha 
the day before we started.” 

Pointing to the fresh mounds with his sword, 
the Captain earnestly replied, “ Heaven pity them; 
they would be better off here.” 

A sense of horror crept over all. Mrs. Bender’s 
heart sank within her. Her husband, too, felt 
discouraged. “Let us go back,” he said, more to 
console her than actually to suggest what to do. 
At that moment they overheard the Captain tell 
Dr. Porter, that no Indians were now known to be 
near, except this roving band, and that the mili- 
tary were chasing these from the country. 

“Well, one danger is over,” exclaimed Mrs. 
Bender, as Miss Smiley was now joining her. 
“ How thankful I am that we did not go with that 
unfortunate train, as we had intended doing. 
Something seemed to hold me back, though the 


GRAVES ON THE PRAIRIE. 23 

only reason I could give was that there were so 
few women with it I have no doubt it was Provi- 
dence that prevented us.” 

Captain Holman (his name the ladies had 
learned from a private), as though inspecting the 
train, which was now pretty well bunched around 
the scene of the massacre, just then happening to 
ride along, they hailed him. Tipping his hat, he 
answered their inquiries by saying that such a 
large number as they were need not fear an attack, 
if watchful, and, besides, they all could settle so 
near Fort McPherson as always to be under mili- 
tary protection. 

‘^We are corraling the red- skins pretty well,” 
he said. “ Only a few stray ones committed this 
outrage. But these poor fellows were too reckless. 
They knew that eleven men should not venture to 
cross the plains.” 

booking at Mrs. Bender with an inquisitive 
twinkle in his eyes, the Captain said, “ You are 
from Pennsylvania, aren’t you ? ” 

Without denying it she replied, “And how do 
you know that ? ” 

Smiling, he replied, “ I am from the grand old 
Keystone myself,” and, saluting them, he rode 
after his duties. 

The meeting on the frontier of people from the 


24 the secret oe the caRon. 

same state, though they have never seen each other 
before, often is a gleam of sunshine through 
prison bars, and often proves the foundation of 
warm friendship afterwards. 

Mr. and Mrs. Bender now reasoned that to go 
back would be suicidal, and might defeat the 
entire object of their coming west. Every door, 
save one, seemed shut, and that opened toward 
sunset. This was the conclusion of all the Ameri- 
cans. 

As for the foreigners, the men looked on in 
brave curiosity, while the women under the canvas 
silently wept and prayed by turns. But, somehow, 
when people once emigrate, they seem to be able 
to do only one thing, and that is, to go forward. 
Consequently the thirty wagons started westward. 

But not all. A widow whose husband had been 
killed in the Rebellion was in the train. With her 
was her only child, a little boy. She had been 
observed to be nervous and changeable in her 
moods. To-day^s experience was too much for her. 
All at once she drove out of the line, turned her 
team about, and furiously drove eastward. “ Good 
bye,’’ she yelled, “ I can not stay in this God-for- 
saken land.” Several of the men tried to dissuade 
her, but she desperately pointed a gun at them, 
and, like a demon in a chariot of the air, with 


GRAVES ON THE PRAIRIE. 25 

staring eyes and streaming hair, she flew away in 
dust and distance. 

Steadily the train moved on all the afternoon. 
At last evening came. There is not much twi- 
light on the plains. The sun suddenly drops out 
of sight, as if it fell from its place in the heavens. 
Just as quickly, like a pall, darkness falls over the 
landscape. 

The teams were beginning to stop for the night, 
when a horseman appeared on the bluffs. He was 
a weird figure against the darkening sky. He had 
on a broad hat, called sombrero, with leathern 
band. A belt containing revolvers and hunting- 
knife was about his waist. With his woolen shirt 
and blouse, deerskin trousers, big boots and spurs, 
his gun resting on the pommel of his saddle, and 
his long hair hanging down to his shoulders, he 
seemed a dangerous man to meet. But he was a 
friend, an army scout. In repose his heavy mus- 
tache and bushy eye-brows and sunburnt face gave 
him the stern appearance of an iron-incased 
knight; but when he came near and spoke, not 
even the children were afraid of him. 

“ Ivook yere. D’ you folks mean ter camp that 
air way to-night, all spread out in no fashion? 
Two Injuns could scalp th'e half of ye afore tother 
half would know what’s up.” 


26 


THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 


With this abrupt speech he introduced himself. 
Then as a born commander he arranged the in- 
experienced immigrants for the night. Using Mr. 
Bender and Dr. Porter as aids, he placed all the 
teams in a circle, the rear ends all towards the 
centre. On the fenceless prairie this w^as easily 
and quickly done. As fast as the horses could be 
driven up, the corral was completed. 

The camp now became the scene of busy life. 
The men unhitched, took out the feeding-troughs, 
and tethered the animals in the great meadows of 
sweet buffalo grass. The women took out their 
provisions and kettles. The river afforded water 
for beast and man. lyittle trenches were scraped 
in the soft sandy loam, in which such drift-wood 
as could be found and “buffalo chips’’ fed the 
rustic fires. On these frontier stoves the kettles 
soon vrere singing their happy song. The camp 
was like a lighted village. With the bare earth as 
table and couch, no meal ever was more heartily 
enjoyed. Amidst the thick ambient gloom, under 
the moonless sky, this encampment was the only 
illumination — a beacon light of civilization in the 
red man’s wilderness. 

The Benders had invited the swarthy scout to 
supper. He accepted the invitation and related 
some genuine frontier adventures. When he was 


GRAVES ON THE PRAIRIE. 


27 


done about half the people had gathered about 
him. After having cautioned the men to bring in 
the horses from their grazing revels on the prairie, 
he, without having given his name, or seeming to 
hear the cheers that were given in his honor, 
mounted his black charger and rode into the dark- 
ness. 

One by one the tired people fell asleep, the men 
rolled in blankets on the grass, the women and 
children in the ‘‘schooners.” A gun was lying 
near each man’s hands, and the watchers were at 
their posts, more wakeful than comfortable. Soon 
all was silent, save in one tent. 

We have already mentioned the family whose 
little girl was sick. In passing up along the low 
Missouri bottom, she caught malarial fever. She 
seemed to recover, but remained very weak. 
Thinking that out-door life would have the usual 
effect of instilling new vigor into the frail constitu- 
tion, a physician had advised them to go on. At 
first she improved, but now a relapse had set in. 
Dr. Porter said she might rally, if she could have 
perfect rest. That at present was impossible. The 
hot sun and continual jarring of the wagon were 
against the little invalid. On this night she was 
worse than usual. To give her the full benefit of 
the fresh air, she was placed in a small open tent 


28 


THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 


There the little sufferer lay on a bed of blankets 
and pillows. A lantern revealed the fever-flushed 
face and the black sinking eyes. Her voice was 
low and sweet. Her gentle countenance won all 
hearts. Almost wild with grief, her mother was 
kneeling beside and over her. 

By this time the minister sought the sick one. 
All that rude as well as tender hands could do had 
already been done for the little girl’s comfort. 
Without asking for the privilege of doing so, the 
good man kneeled down and offered a fervent 
prayer. Henceforth the heart-stricken parents 
were not comfortless. They realized that the 
house of God was even in the desert. After this 
devotion, the minister ventured to ask the child, 
“My dear little girl, may I ask your name?” 

Feebly she replied, “ Eva.” 

“ Did you ever go to church or Sunday-school?” 

“ O, yes !” was her simply joyful answer. 

“You have then heard of Jesus?” 

“Yes, sir, and of His love too.” 

“Trust Him then and love Him, for he said, 
‘ Suffer the little children and forbid them not to 
come unto me.’ ” 

Gasping, she said, “You did not say it all — ‘ for 
of such — is the kingdom — of heaven.’ ” 

Astonished by this unexpected testimony, the 


GRAVES ON THE PRAIRIE. 29 

good man gently said, “ Eva, Jesus has a beautiful 
home in store for you. Don’t be afraid.” 

“I aint,” she said, smiling, “my home is lit up 
already.” 

“Yes,” he replied, mistaking her meaning, 
“ they need no sun there.” 

“ No ; it is lit up,” she joyfully answered, point- 
ing her pale hand toward the visible sky, “don’t 
you see, God has his lights out? ” 

The minister followed her gaze and sat in 
silence. There “smiled the stars like new hopes 
out of heaven.” 

The midnight stillness was unbroken, save by 
the breathing of horses, the chewing of kine, and 
the howling of a pack of coyotes not far away. 

The little invalid fell into a fitful slumber, then 
awoke as from a dream. Looking sweetly at her 
mother, she laid her hand in hers, fell asleep, but 
waked not again. Her spirit had gone up the 
stairway of light, and morning found her among 
the angels. 

With the rising sun all was astir in camp. 
Everybody was glad that the Indians had not dis- 
turbed them. But none failed to be genuinely sad 
at the news that death had been in their midst. 

Mrs. Bender had already prepared the little 
body for burial. Mr. Bender was collecting boards 


30 THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

of various shapes and kinds to niake a rough 
coflSn. When it was finished, Miss Smiley placed 
on it a wreath of white poppies and some rare 
purple gentians — gathered, at her request, by Dr. 
Porter and his companion. 

Nothing remained to be done but to bury little 
Kva. More sympathetic people never plucked 
flowers or dug a grave. A lone box-elder tree at 
the mouth of a gulch still marks the spot. Thither 
the solemn procession moved. The first two 
verses of “Jesus, Dover of My Soul” were sung. 
The minister read the burial service of some 
church — ^which, no one cared to know. Then the 
words “Ashes to ashes” were spoken, and Eva 
Clarke was left to wait for the resurrection, with 
nothing but a mound and a pine board to mark 
her resting place, only that the box-elder stood 
solemn sentinel there. 

Slowly the wagons fell into line again and 
moved forward, leaving Eva among the prairie 
flowers. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE HOMESTEAD. 

Fort McPherson had been but recently built. 
It was not the pile of stones and logs of the Revo- 
lutionary period, but simply a cluster of houses 
and barracks, inclosing a square plot of ground 
bordered on one side by a deep gully. 

At this time several thousand people were living 
in and around it. It was the military key to the 
country west of it. For the sake of safety, during 
this period of Indian depredations, no train con- 
taining less than forty wagons was allowed to pass 
beyond its limits, a rule which was rigidly en- 
forced. 

As our friends had come for homes, they de- 
cided to take up land, under the homestead laws, 
within easy access to the fort. Here the Platte 
valley is so narrow that one can easily see across its 
entire breadth. The bottom land contains some 
alkali, often appearing in white patches on the 
surface. The uplands are more fertile. 

No nation ever was so generous, and at the same 

{31) 


32 THE SECRET OF THE CAfJON. 

time so wise, as ours, when it offered to give to 
each applicant i6o acres of land for the improve- 
ments and time one would spend upon it, and i6o 
more for planting lo acres of trees. This privi- 
lege of the poor has, in many instances, become 
the speculation of the rich. Yet the evils of the 
system have been more than over-balanced by its 
benefits. It has filled the great West with an 
intelligent and thrifty population, a hardy agri- 
cultural citizenship. 

Having as much a care for beauty as for utility, 
Mr. Bender selected a quarter-section near Sioux 
Tookout (the highest point in the valley) as a 
homestead. Here at the mouth of a canon they 
fixed their residence. 

But as we are using terms that may be unknown 
to the reader, we will explain them. The state of 
Nebraska is divided into squares containing 640 
acres each. These again are divided into smaller 
squares of 160 acres each, called quarter-sections. 
One of these can be taken as a homestead, another 
as a timber claim, another as a pre-emption (to be 
bought at a low price after a six-months’ resi- 
dence), and the fourth can be purchased. By this 
means Jacob Bender could own a whole square 
mile of land and thus secure a farm for each of his 
children. Though it would take five years to 


THE homestead. 


33 


secure a title for the homestead (“proving up” it 
is called) and eight for the timber-claim, he did 
not care — he had come to stay. 

A canon (pronounced canyon) is a deep channel 
worn out through the land by the action of water 
currents. If you imagine a river-bed, with all its 
branches dried up, you will understand the ap- 
pearance of such a fantastic furrow. Only a canon 
is always narrow and deep ; its branches short, and 
often ending very abruptly, in which case they are 
called “pockets.” 

It was at the west side, at the mouth of such a 
ravine, or where it opened out into the valley, that 
the Bender residence was fixed. Behind it was 
the high bluff, or Sioux I^ookout, to ward off the 
cold winds in winter ; before it stretched the ex- 
pansive plain, with the flag at the Fort always in 
view. To the north a range of sand-hills, alto- 
gether bare of vegetation, and the river, with a 
large island, were visible. As soon as the sun 
rose it shone upon this spot. In the middle of the 
afternoon the bluff would shade it. A few cotton- 
wood trees had been spared by the prairie fires 
there, and no others could be seen except along 
the edge of the river. Yet it was a lovely nook 
for a western home. 

The first few weeks the residence coiisisted of 

3 


34 "thk secret oe the caRon. 

the wagon which had brought them. Mr. Bender, 
being a carpenter, at first was too proud to think 
of putting up a sod house; but in an almost timber- 
less and stoneless country, especially before the 
railroad brought lumber, few, besides Uncle Sam, 
could afford any other So a piece of ground was 
broken with a plow and the upturned sod cut into 
squares or rectangles. These served in the stead 
of stones or brick. In this manner a small one 
story hut, with a door and a few windows, could 
be built, at small cost, within a few days. The 
canon afforded enough dead cedar rafters for the 
flat roof, which also was covered with sod. In 
early summer such a house is green all over. A 
stove-pipe usually had to be its own chimney as 
well. The earthen floor had to wait for better 
times before its nakedness could be relieved by 
pine or oak or carpet. A bed could not be mova- 
ble here : it must be permanently nailed in a cor- 
ner. It need have only one post. The other ends 
of the cross-pieces can be inserted in the wall. 
The mattress may consist of boards, unless one is 
fortunate enough to have ropes. A store-box must 
serve as the table. In those primitive environ- 
ments anything was a chair. In the absence of a 
stove, a mud-hearth, sometimes on the outside of 
the “castle,” can warm any dinner. The horses 


THE HOMESTEAD. 


35 


and cattle need no stabling before winter — some 
get none even then. A cellar must be provided. 
For this purpose a hole is scooped out and tun- 
neled into the hill, and this “dug-out” serves as 
pantry and spring-house, that luxury of the East, 
unknown here, but always missed by those who 
once had it. At first water must be hauled from 
the river. Afterwards a well will be sunk by 
forcing a pipe below “ hard pan ” — a tough layer 
of clay, often deep beneath the soil. Grass is 
plenty, not timothy or clover, but the nutritious 
buffalo-grass. We speak of those days. Now it 
almost has disappeared with the noble animal 
whose name it bears. How civilization changes 
the very face of nature ! 

August was not the best month in the year in 
which to begin life on the plains. Except so far 
as a gun can secure wild chickens (grouse), jack 
rabbits, deer, ducks, geese or buffalo, there are no 
provisions on hand for the winter. Next spring 
the ground must be broken for the first crop of 
corn and potatoes. Wheat, rye, millet, oats and 
garden vegetables will receive early consideration 
too. 

Thus hundreds of thousands have begun house- 
keeping and farming in the West. Fife without 
any luxury and little social enjoyment, was it 
happy? We shall see. 


36 THK SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

I^et US now locate some neighbors of whom we 
have before heard. We shall not find them very 
close together. The doctor, whose acquaintance 
we have made, lives several miles south of 
“Bender’s place,” in a pocket of the canon. He, 
being a bachelor, gets along in a dugout, whose 
furniture consists of one trunk, one chair, and a 
lounge. He is better off than some of his neigh- 
bors in that his floor is covered with a carpet on a 
matting of hay. A pipe is jutting out of his shed- 
roof over the door. A student lamp on a home- 
made bracket affords plenty of light to read his 
books and magazines, of which his “den” is 
stuffed full. 

Going westward a few miles we come to a 
canvas tent. Miss Smiley had not come for health 
alone, but also for hygienic reform. As houses 
cause weak lungs, she is not going to live in one. 
Here in this tepee, like a barbarian, she is going 
to live or die. At any cost her theory must be put 
to the test. The wild prairie shall be her hospital, 
and nature her nurse. She had brought her taber- 
nacle with her — a fine outfit. At one end was a 
raised platform on which rested a steel- spring mat- 
tress. This was the dormitory, separated by a 
curtain from the sitting-room, kitchen and parlor 
combination which constituted the other part of 


THE HOMESTEAD. 


37 


this Arabian palace in the desert. The platform 
was so raised on posts that the snakes could not be 
too sociable. The first night, when she had slept 
in blankets spread on the bare ground, two large 
serpents were lying close against her in the morn- 
ing. She had no fancy for such bed-fellows. See 
here a brussels carpet, an organ, a mirror (of 
course) and a table. But let no one pity an unde- 
fended female. Two revolvers are lying on that 
table. Above hangs a rifle. On the rug here is 
sleeping a large Saint Bernard dog. This daring 
woman’s health is improving, and, if she should 
have a relapse, the doctor is not far off. 

But she has friends closer yet. The Opsals, 
with their bright Thea, are living only half a mile 
off, and Tindborgs no farther. Hansens have lo- 
cated two miles to the west of Benders, and Kahns 
as far to the east. Beyond these, westward, no one 
as yet had settled. Northward and southward 
there were no settlements. As on an island in a 
vast ocean, these pioneers are now dwelling in 
their solitary community. 

As all their neighbors lived in a manner similar 
to the Benders, it is not worth while to describe 
their surroundings. Thus we find these people in 
a place and in circumstances which all had come 
far to seek, and which few will ever leave before 


38 


THE SECRET OF THE CANTON. 


they shall go to their graves. Since all are pass- 
ing through similar experiences, they will be sym- 
pathetic and helpful toward each other. Few 
bonds are as close as those that exist between old 
soldiers and old settlers. Pioneers know nothing 
of social distinctions. All are quality in equality. 
In this heroic period people think and feel and do 
more in one year, than they would have done at 
the old home in ten. Their experiences are in- 
tense and manifold. Such a life, though its sha- 
dows are many, is not without a certain inde- 
scribable charm. 

Dr. Porter, both in bent of mind and by educa- 
tion, was a scientist. He had graduated from the 
best classical and medical colleges. Having inher- 
ited a fortune, and acquired weak nerves, he had 
come, in his own way, to seek recuperation. He 
brought with him his good bay horse. As he did 
not like the idea of every day riding him to the 
river for water, he had a well bored, at great ex- 
pense, on some high table-land. On a stout frame 
he placed a windmill which drew the water for 
him. Up this he built a good ladder. Since from 
this high perch he could see over the whole coun- 
try as far as the eye could reach, it served him as a 
valuable look-out. There, like the figure of a 
huge crab, lay the weird outlines of the canon. 


THE homestead. 


39 


There, reminding one of the rolling billows of the 
sea, stretched the expanse of the peculiar boulder- 
like clay-formations. The scene was sublime. 
One evening, taking Br3^ant’s poems in hand, the 
doctor saw what the high-priest of nature has so 
finely described : 

‘‘These are the gardens of the Desert, these 
The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful. 

For which the speech of England has no name — 

The Prairies. I behold them for the first. 

And my heart swells, while the dilated sight 
Takes in the vastness. Lo ! They stretch 
In airy undulations, far away. 

As if the ocean, in his gentlest swell. 

Stood still, with all his rounded billows fixed. 

And motionless forever.” 


But while the doctor was thus standing rapt be- 
fore this awful solitude, the spell was broken by 
an unexpected intrusion. Down in the canon was 
a cone-shaped formation of clay. A rider was 
cautiously making his wa}" up the channel. As if 
he had melted away in the air, right at that cone 
he disappeared. The doctor was not superstitious. 
But he could not help saying to himself, “What! 
Have I at last seen a ghost?” He gazed long 
with his field-glass, but he could see nothing more 
of the mysterious horseman. A strange feeling 


40 THE SECRET OF THE CANTON. 

crept over him. He could not sleep much that 
night. When he did fall into a short slumber, the 
vision of the gloaming would appear as a fantastic 
picture in his mind. Then a horrid nightmare 
permanently awoke him. For fear the man might 
appear without a head he could not again close his 
eyes. With the departure of the early mists, he 
hoped with a clear intellect to make a thorough 
investigation of this mysterious occurrence. This 
he did, with what result we shall see. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE SABBATH WITHOUT THE SANCTUARY. 

In the East our friends always had attended 
church on Sundays. Not to do so there was to be 
entirely out of fashion. Mr. Bender and his wife 
had belonged to a village congregation which, on 
account of being part of a large charge, or parish, 
could have services only once in every two weeks. 
This congregation was one of those unfortunate 
ones which are continually rearing members, only 
to see them move to the cities or the West. Many 
of them formed the nucleus of new missions in the 
various denominations. The church, therefore, 
always being weak through this drainage, its pas- 
tors never received much credit or encouragement 
in their work — except from the Master. 

Mr. and Mrs. Bender knew that they would not 
find their own church in the West. But they had 
been too conscientiously accustomed to family-wor- 
ship to give that up, just because the altar had to be 
transferred from one place to another. Their home 
was a church. To them Bethel was everywhere. 

(41) 


42 THE SECRET OF THE CAfJON. 

On the first Sabbath morning, after the house- 
hold services were over, the great question was, 
“What shall next be done?” How shall the rest 
of the day be spent? Mr. Hansen came along 
with his team. He managed to make them under- 
stand that he was going down the canon, where 
were plenty of cedar- trunks scorched by fire. His 
idea, in his new liberty, was that where there was 
no church, it mattered little what you worked on 
the lyord’s Day. Just then a stranger, with a 
plowing outfit, was passing. He inquired what 
day of the week it was. Having been informed 
that it was Sunday, he declared he had lost track 
of the calendar, but that in this country it made 
no difference : here one day was like another. 
Herman Kahn also was galloping across ranches 
after some stray cattle. He was working for a 
company, whose chief stockholder was Mr. Snide, 
and he would not allow on the ranch any employe 
who had scruples about Sunday. To him all such 
pious notions were so much nonsense. He 
“ would not allow the Almighty to run his busi- 
ness.” This irreligious proprietor himself spent 
this day, as many others besides this one, at the 
card-table and pool-room in the rear of his shanty- 
saloon, near the Fort. Drunken men were lying 
about his place all night. 


SABBATH WITHOUT THE SANCTUARY. 43 

The other little Kahns were now seen digging 
after a badger, which they had seen running into 
his burrow on the side of a hill. The Bender chil- 
dren wanted to join them, but on this holy day such 
acts were so unusual to them, that they did not 
venture to ask for permission to do so. 01 lie and 
Ruth tried to make mud-balls and to bake them in 
the sun. Ruth also was going to bake some cakes 
and pies. But they found this pastime more diflS- 
cult in prairie-sands than it had been in Pennsyl- 
vania clay. At last their mother said, “ Children, 
I wish you would not do this to-day. Go behind 
the house and do something else. God sees you 
doing this, and it is no proper thing for Sunday.’^ 
But Ollie innocently inquired, ‘‘Mamma, isn’t 
God behind the house?” Ruth hoped Sunday 
would soon be over and not come again. After 
having read an old book, Samuel, not knowing 
what else to do, aimlessly walked about, sighing 
for diversion. He looked down toward the river 
and got the fishing fever. He longed to go ang- 
ling, but was afraid to ask permission. The result 
was, that he chafed under this legal strait-jacket 
until he wished such a dull day would never re- 
turn. His dissatisfaction was increased by the 
knowledge that Olaf Hansen and several other 
boys were down there at the river having a good 
time. 


44 the secret of the CAf^ON. 

Meanwhile Mr. and Mrs. Bender, after reading 
their Bible until their eyes and brains were weary, 
wrote letters to those who were all the more dear 
for being so far away. The dinner hour soon 
came. All felt as though the forenoon had lasted 
a week. The day was becoming very irksome in- 
deed. The very sky seemed to be dull. Dinner 
had little relish. Finally Mrs. Bender suggested 
that it could not be very sinful to take an after- 
noon drive among some of their neighbors. 
Though Sunday-visiting had never been one of 
her habits, she thought circumstances did alter 
cases. But while this is true, she at the same time 
felt that one’s conscience should not be india- 
rubber to be stretched to suit our fleshly whims. 

After a somewhat prolonged silence, during 
which tears were filling her eyes, she broke out 
with emotion, “How I wish we had a church of 
our own again, as we were used to having.” 

“So do I,” said the father, for he had been 
thinking of the same thing; “but it hardly seems 
possible that we will have one here very soon.” 

“But it seems awful,” continued the weeping 
mother, “ not ever again to get into one’s old, our 
own dear church. I do not say others are not 
good, but to me mine always was and will remain 
the best. But here there is not even one of any 
kind. The thought makes me miserable.” 


SABBATH WITHOUT THE SANCTUARY. 45 

The man who often had filled church offices 
could reply only with a sigh, while his wife buried 
her face in a handkerchief and indulged sweet 
memories of the past — -memories which mostly 
were twined about the village church, like its own 
ever-green ivy. 

Again she began, “ Here are our children. We 
did not rightly consider their spiritual welfare 
when we came out here. In this country they 
must grow up like heathen. They may gain this 
world, but may lose the next. ’ ’ 

Here Samuel, realizing how little he used to 
appreciate the opportunity, said, “ I wish we could 
go to Sunday-school somewhere this afternoon. It 
is so lonely here, I do not know what to do with 
myself.’’ 

As if recalling happy days, Ruth began to sing : 

“ Far out upon the prairie, 

How many children dwell, 

Who never read the Bible, 

Or hear the Sabbath-bell.” 

As all were now rising from the table, on the 
nearest bluff to the east there appeared, within 
range of vision, the little Kahns, in their old- 
country wooden shoes and peasant dresses, skip- 
ping like chamois on the hill, eating big pieces of 
bread spread with lard and salt. Ever thoughtful 


46 


THK SECRET OE THE CAf^ON. 


Ollie vigorously cried out, “ Mamma, why can’t 
we start Sunday-school at home here ? Kahns and 
we would make twelve, counting the babies — one, 
two, three,” and he counted on his fingers the 
heads in both families. 

lyittle Martin usually repeated what Ollie said. 
So he chimed in from his nail-keg high chair, 
“Wy tant we tart Tunday-kool ? ” The rest he 
had forgotten. 

This child-talk sank deep into the hearts of both 
parents. But their awakening plans for the future 
were interrupted by the arrival of a visitor. It 
was Miss Smiley with Duke, as she called her dog, 
a fine fellow, with human-like eyes and soft, 
glossy hair. The chestnut and black pelt on his 
back ran into the white below his body in such 
decided shades as to make the appearance of a 
fringed covering having been placed on him. He 
was a noble specimen of a noble race. 

“Why, Miss Smiley, how glad we are to see 
you! How are you?” was the neighbor’s saluta- 
tion as she kissed her like an old friend. 

“ I have been thinking so much of you of late. 
Are you not afraid to stay out there alone?” 

Cheerfully the teacher replied, “No indeed, 
why should I ? There is nobody there except the 
Dord, and He says, ‘It is I ; be not afraid. ’ 
Doesn’t He?” 


SABBATH WITHOUT THE SANCTUARY. 47 

Though not much given to humor, Mr. Bender, 
as he observed the end of a revolver peeping out 
of the folds of her dress, could not resist drolly 
saying, “ But you seem to believe in the motto, 

‘ Trust in God and keep your powder dry.’ ” 

‘‘Yes, sir,” said she, laughing and patting Duke 
on the head, “ I combine science and religion in a 
practical way.” 

After some conversation it was agreed to take a 
ride over country together. Tom and Tab were 
quickly hitched in the two-horse vehicle that once, 
when covered, served as “schooner,” and started 
westward. The prairie grass was already dead, 
not on account of frost, but for want of rain and 
on account of the hot sun. The clouds always 
empty out nearly all their moisture on the Rockies 
and reserve but little for this district. The sward 
of the valley was now of a dull red color. The 
glory of autumn already was in the foliage of the 
small trees along the river. 

“Oh, I wish we could see the trees on the 
mountains back home. These would be only 
brush there,” said Samuel. 

“Now Samuel,” said Miss Smiley, “You must 
be more contented. You forget how those noble 
trees used to get into your way, when they ob- 
structed your view or caught your fishing lines.” 

Samuel felt it was true, so he said nothing. 


48 THE SECRET OE THE CA^^ON. 

Just then a familiar figure appeared on the 
bluffs to the left. All soon recognized him as the 
scout whom they had met some weeks before. He 
came near, talking pleasantly, though a little 
absent-mindedly, turning his eyes from place to 
place with the alertness of a bird. He seemed to 
be expecting something from the westward. At 
least he gazed much in that direction. He soon 
did see something — all did — more than the party 
in the wagon just then cared to see. Eighteen 
hundred Indians appeared in the distance. To 
our friends they seemed to be so many thousands. 
The smaller children soon began to scream. Mr. 
Bender, before he was aware of what he was doing, 
had already turned half-way around, when the 
scout cried out, “Never mind, cap’n! Stick to 
yer guns. Jist drive on.” There was something 
so cool and assuring in this strange man, that Mr. 
Bender felt ashamed of himself and drove toward 
the moving mass of Indians. The horses pricked 
their ears and snorted, but obeyed the lines. The 
scout kept close to the wheels and, though no 
doubt his nerves were more firm than theirs, he 
was as silent as the women. Though determined 
to be brave, they were too timid to open their lips. 

The Indians soon came up and swarmed about 
the wagon like bees. They were unarmed. Their 


SABBATH WITHOUT THE SANCTUARY. 49 

ponies had long poles, crossing at the ridge of 
their necks, attached to their sides, and on these 
they dragged their household goods and tepees. 
A few of the men were mounted, but all the 
squaws and children walked. The papooses, or 
babies, were wrapped in cloths and tied upon 
boards and then attached to the tent-poles, by 
which means they were thus being dragged along. 
The feet of many of the boys and girls were bleed- 
ing from the long journey over dry grass and 
cactus patches, over which they had walked bare- 
footed. But not one raised a cry on account of the 
pain which they felt. They thought that would 
have been cowardly. They had been taught 
stoical endurance of all the trials of life. To be 
otherwise than silent would, in Indian parlance, 
have meant that they were “coffee men.” 

A regiment of soldiers was taking these bar- 
barians to a reservation. They were prisoners of 
war. Consequently it was not dangerous to drive 
through them. Curiosity led many of them so 
near that the wagon could not proceed. Some 
took hold of the wheels and peered into the ladies’ 
faces. The scout seeing a broom, which had been 
used to dust the wagon, still lying in it, said, in a 
low tone to Miss Smiley, “ Hit them rapscallions 
wid that.” But she had no chance to do so. She 


4 


50 THE SECRET OF THE CAfJON. 

took it Up, when lo! the braves fell back with 
horror, tumbling over each other and rolling on 
the ground to get av/ay from the “white squaw.” 
A gun in the hands of a man would not have 
frightened them nearly as much. To be struck by 
a woman they considered unspeakably disgraceful. 

Uncivilized people never show any sense of 
humor in the presence of strangers. The Indians 
did not laugh at the expense of their companions, 
as whites would have done. They either failed to 
see the joke or else closed their eyes to it. At 
first Miss Smiley was frightened at the effect of 
her own threat, but when the scout roared out in 
laughter, she could not resist doing so. She had 
easily won her battle. When the Indians all had 
passed, the scout turned toward the bluffs again. 
“Are you going to leave us?” asked Miss Smiley. 
“Yes, ma’m, I kin do no more fer ye. So long!” 
And he waved his sombrero in good-bye, spurred 
his horse, and galloped off. It did not at once oc- 
cur to our friends that he had joined them for this 
very purpose. But such was the case. “What 
would we have done without him?” said Mrs. 
Bender, ‘‘and yet we forgot to thank him. One 
loses even good manners in this wild country.” 

They, too, now turned toward the bluffs. At a 
distance these seem to be perpendicular, but their 


SABBATH WITHOUT THE SANCTUARY. 5 1 

rise is so gradual, that, before they were aware of 
it, our friends were on top of them. The wind, as 
usual, was blowing briskly. These constant 
breezes on the woodless plains are a great annoy- 
ance to ladies. “Come to my ranch,” said Miss 
Smiley, “ out of this gale. I will give you supper, 
provided I have something on hand, and if not, 
the ravens must feed you in this wilderness also.” 

The invitation was accepted. The excursionists 
now reached a place strewn with a large number 
of buffalo bones. The rest alighted, while Mr. 
Bender remained in the wagon with Baby Martin. 
Miss Smiley had the precaution to take the gun 
with her. All at once, Duke, who had kept under 
the wagon when the Indians were passing, gave a 
sharp bark, jumped aside, and stood still, while he 
fixed his eyes upon the grass. At the same mo- 
ment a thrilling, piercing rattle was heard, and all 
soon discovered a rattlesnake coiling up for a 
spring. Immediately the second one gave the 
alarm in rear of Duke. He quickly wheeled, and 
the first snake sprang toward him. It would 
have struck him, had it not flown into pieces in 
the air. A woman’s sure aim had saved her body- 
guard. Though the other reptile slid into a 
gopher’s hole, the company was glad to hasten 
into the shelter of the wagon-bed. Where there 


52 THK SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

are neither sticks nor stones, a snake has the ad- 
vantage over the lords of creation. 

The homes of Opsals and lyindborgs were now 
soon reached. The men were not about, but both 
mothers were in their sod houses, reading sermon- 
books and Bibles which they had brought from 
the old country. Their children were at such 
plays as the circumstances afforded. The coming 
of our friends was a welcome break on the monot- 
ony of the leaden Sabbath hours. But as they 
could not understand each other, the visit was not 
very satisfactory to either. So the excursionists 
went on and soon reached Miss Smiley’s place. 
Here the promised supper was served. At first the 
hostess did not know how to accommodate so 
many guests. Two boxes were made to yield ser- 
vice as a table ; the wagon-seats for the time took 
the place of chairs. After a hearty meal, all 
agreed to continue their exploring expedition as 
far as the “Doctor’s Cellar,” as Ruth called it. 

The two-mile ride through a branch of the 
canon was most interesting. Here and there a 
few cedars struggled for a lonely existence on the 
clay-banks. A number of charred trees with 
white tops were the remains of former fires — the 
desolate remnants of a dead past. Wild plums en- 
twined by grape-vines alternated with patches of 


SABBATH WITHOUT THE SANCTUARY. 53 

native sunflowers. The death-like silence was 
broken only by the rustling wings of a hawk as he 
flew from his nest on a peak of hard earth. 
Dozens of gophers and ground squirrels shot out 
of the way, stopped at their burrows, and poked 
up their saucy heads, as much as to say, “You 
can’t catch me.'''* 

All was quiet as a church. The influence of 
such a place on the virgin soil of the prairie falls 
like a sacred incense upon the heart. None of our 
friends now spoke a word. But again the silence 
was broken by the whirring commotion of a 
startled flock of prairie-chickens. “Whew! Oh, 
what is that?” cried the children, as the birds 
wheeled in a semicircle around them. 

In a short time they reached the doctor’s. That 
gentleman was just preparing some game for sup- 
per. We may here say that he was Scotch-Irish 
in blood, tall and just now thin, his hair black, 
his eyes grey, and his complexion pale. He was 
well educated. Too much study at school and 
exposure afterwards had shattered his nervous 
system. After a few years’ practice he had been 
compelled to give up his profession on account of 
insomnia. Hence we find him in the salubrious 
climate of Nebraska, as he told his friends, “ for 
health or a grave.” Besides his dug-out he had 


54 "THE SECRET OF THE CA^ON. 

also built a sod-stable for his horse, Major, who 
was the only comrade of his exile. 

“Bless you, good friends, I was not expecting 
company,” he said, tipping his hat to the new 
comers and beginning to roll up his sleeves; “ but 
I am very glad to see you. Step down. Wait I’ll 
help you.” And he was lifting the children down. 

“One would think, doctor,” said Miss Smiley, 
“ you did not want any one to visit you, or you 
would not have given your best building to your 
horse. But then that’s man-like.” 

“Beg your pardon,” he replied genially, “do 
not Pennsylvanians always build palaces for their 
cattle ? ’ ’ 

“And hovels for their wives,” quickly added 
Mrs. Bender. 

“But, doctor,” chaffed Mr. Bender, “a wife is 
just what you need. It is not good for you to be 
alone. ’ ’ 

“ I know that. But, you see, no one could be 
induced to accept my quarters. So I am doomed 
to bachelorhood forever.” 

“Yes, doctor,” said Mr. Bender, “in this new 
country the women have the start of us, and 
depend on it, they will keep it too. They will get 
their rights here, and a little more.” 

“Say, doctor,” pleaded the wife, “don’t let him 


SABBATH WITHOUT THE SANCTUARY. 55 

frighten you. We are not as terrible as we some- 
times let on.” 

By this time the ladies were seated and the con- 
versation turned to something else. Of course 
some reference was made to Indians and snakes. 
“Oh!” exclaimed Mrs. Bender, shivering, “I can 
still hear that fearful noise, like the rattling of a 
hundred policemen at midnight.” 

“But,” said the doctor, “after this you must not 
get frightened. True, it is a poisonous reptile, 
whose fangs are fatal. But what a fine provision 
of Providence it is that it gives warning before it 
strikes. Besides it can spring only about four 
feet. We must, therefore, only run when we hear 
it. In such a case prudence is the better part of 
valor.” 

The scientist laughed and then continued. 
“ Since you have been riding so long, let us take a 
walk to my nearest neighbors.” 

“I thought we were your nearest neighbors,” 
said Mrs. Bender. 

The doctor only gave her a knowing look, and 
taking Martin in his arm and Ruth by the hand, 
said, “Now come along.” They all scaled the 
sides and were soon on the bank, rather edge, of 
the canon. Here the land was level, forming a 
lovely savanna, several miles in extent. 


56 THE SECRET OE THE CANON. 

“ Who has been digging here?” asked Ollie, but 
in the next breath he cried, “ I^ook at those wood- 
chucks !” 

“No, my boy,” replied the doctor, “they look a 
little like them, but these are prairie dogs.” 

So this was their town ! At least two thousand 
burrows with a heap of earth at the mouth of each 
were visible. All the grass nearby was nibbled 
down close. Fully five hundred dogs were out, 
and it was a treat to see their various attitudes. 
Many were sitting on their haunches, chewing or 
barking. Others were running from burrow to 
burrow. Some were sticking their noses out of 
their holes and chirping like squirrels. Some 
were kicking their heels into the air, as the com- 
pany was approaching them, and leaping into 
shelter like frogs into a pond, saying, “chirp, 
chirp, chirp!” 

Of course the doctor had to answer a legion of 
questions. After having given “dog town” a 
thorough examination he said, with a mysterious 
look, “ Now I will take you to Robin Hood’s Pal- 
ace. ’ ’ 

Will we see the Robber Knight?” asked Miss 
Smiley. 

“I do not know whether we will or not. I 
never found him at home yet. But I would not 


SABBATH WITHOUT THE SANCTUARY. 57 

be at all surprised if we should. I once saw him 
riding into it.” 

They went on talking, until they came to the 
fork in the canon, from which the branch that ex- 
tends out to Miss Smiley’s place leaves the main 
ravine. There stood a clay cone, like a giant bee- 
hive, about thirty feet high. It was detached 
from the embankment on all sides but one. Yet 
on account of some cedars and grape-vines it did 
not seem to stand by itself. As similar formations 
were near it, it did not attract special attention. 
But the doctor led them to the natural arbor in 
the rear, when lo! there was an opening which 
admitted them into the cone. It had been hol- 
lowed out, forming a large bare room. Prints of 
men’s shoes and horses’ hoofs appeared on the 
floor. A few shelves were cut into the sides. 
Also some marks as of a cipher alphabet had been 
carved there. 

Many questions were asked, but the doctor could 
answer none. “ I found it by accident,” he said. 
“ You see all I know about it, except that I once 
saw a man ride into it.” 

“Well,” asked Mrs. Bender, rather supersti- 
tiously, “did you ever see him go out again?” 

“No; I did not,” said he, with a mischevious 
twinkle, “but I suppose he did.” A sense of mys- 


58 THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

tery crept over all, and they left the chamber in 
silence and wonder. The low sun was a sign for 
going home, and our friends, glad that they had 
met, and hoping soon to meet again, separated for 
the night. 

Mrs. Bender felt that the day had been pleas- 
antly spent. Yet there was something wanting. 
The works of God had induced a worshipful spirit. 
But the great temple of nature could not take the 
place of the sanctuary, — that Holy of Holies, 
where the Lord especially meets his people. Old 
customs do not easily die. The House of God, as 
a fountain in the desert, was wanting, and without 
it there could be no oasis of perfect peace. The 
soul that has spiritual longings, when absent from 
Mount Zion, envies the very sparrows that build 
nests on the altars there, and is jealous of the swal- 
lows that hang their nests beneath the eaves of the 
Temple. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE BIRTH OK A CITY. 

The Benders found everything about the prem- 
ises as they had left them. Nothing had been dis- 
turbed. At the little grove of cottonwoods a jolly 
party of surveyors was camping for the night. 
Among them was the young lawyer who had come 
with the wagon-train we have described. His 
companions had asked him to sing^ and amidst 
applause, he was just finishing “The Sword of 
Bunker Hill.” 

The horses having been tethered for the night, 
Mr. Bender went down to the camp for one of 
those chats, which are such a great diversion 
among frontiersman. During the conversation he 
discovered that the lawyer was the son of an old 
friend by the name of Kuhl, whom he had not 
seen for a long time. Though he had never be- 
fore seen this young man, Mr. Bender immediately 
conceived for him that interest which one in a 
new country naturally feels for the children, or 
even the relatives and neighbors, of old friends. 

(59) 


6o 


THE SECRET OF THE CANON. 


Mr. Kiilil also felt that his father’s friends were 
his own. He walked along back to the house to 
meet the rest and sat on the grass till late, recall- 
ing with his new acquaintances the scenes and 
life of the dear old far-away home in the East. 

As the sun had now long been down, a bank of 
light to the north was visible. The sky in that 
direction soon became illuminated for a hundred 
miles. Great purple billows of smoke rolled over 
the prairie. Alternating sheets of light, as of a 
thousand ovens continually being opened and 
closed, played along the horizon. Flames, like 
red spirits of wrath, ran chasing each other up one 
hill and down the other. The mere sight-seer 
would have said, “ How grand ! ” The dwellers 
on the prairies exclaimed, “ How terrible ! ” The 
spectacle of the prairie on fire presented a sublime, 
but an awful sight, which was filling all minds 
with horror. 

A roving band of Sioux, pressed by a company 
of Pawnee scouts in the employ of our govern- 
ment, had placed a confiagration between them- 
selves and their pursuers. On came the raging 
fiery billows. The roar of the tornado accom- 
panied them. Now they approach the river. The 
few homesteaders on that side start counter-fires. 
Our friends on this side in pale terror are watch- 


THE BIRTH OF A CITY. 


6l 


ing the tragic scene. Some, who had not yet done 
so, get plows and draw furrows around their 
dwellings and burn the grass within the circle. 
Mrs. Bender, with her Bible open at the ninety- 
first Psalm, is kneeling on the floor, the children 
on all sides clinging to her clothing. After rest- 
ing her eyes on the words, “It shall not come 
nigh thee,” she rises and goes out. All fear has 
left her. “Shall abide under the shadow of the 
Almighty” still rings in her memory. She looks 
over the plain. It is lighted almost as in day- 
time. What moving objects are these coming over 
the valley? Horses, buffaloes, elks, deer and the 
air thick with wild fowl — blindly, heedlessly 
escaping from the dreadful besom of destruction. 
They had first waded or flown into the island, but 
new herds and flocks had pushed them off. But 
the flames could only madly lick the water’s edge. 
There they were stayed. 

As the frightened animals came nearer, our 
friends rushed into the house. Since they had as 
yet no’ stable, the horses were taken along. In a 
few minutes the building was jarred by something 
like a battering-ram. A maddened buffalo had 
run against it. After a short, breathless silence 
one of the windows was crashed in, and the 
whirring of wings showed that the light had 


62 


THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 


attracted some prairie-chickens. To prevent such 
calamities the lamp was blown out. A herd of 
elk next was obstructed by the house. Several 
leaped on the roof and the hoof of one broke 
through. Little Martin now began to cry as 
though his heart would break, “ Mamma, doe 
home! Mamma, doe home!” He meant, “Let 
us leave this country and return to Pennsylvania.” 
Some of the older ones felt much like him. But 
the noise ceasing, the lamp was re-lit. Martin soon 
dried his tears and fell asleep in his mamma’s 
arms. A more tired family did not retire that 
night. It was now two o’clock in the morning. 
In five minutes all, except Mr. Bender, were obli- 
vious to the world. He thought it best to keep 
watch till daylight. 

Meanwhile, how were our other acquaintances 
faring? The corps of surveyors were killing game 
and guarding their tents. The Fort was so situ- 
ated amidst ravines and the river that no fire possi- 
bly could reach it. Yet its population was all in 
confusion, on account of its drunken officer, who 
had wildly called the soldiers to arms. The 
beating of drums and blaring of bugles were the 
last sounds the Benders heard while falling asleep. 
These military noises made the night still more 
hideous. Altogether the scene presented a Bedlam 
of confusion. 


THE BIRTH OF A CITY. 63 

Our German and Scandinavian friends had made 
their gardens — that is, they had plowed the ground 
around their homes. In these uninclosed yards 
they were as safe from fire as if they had been be- 
hind stone walls. 

But under such circumstances our doctor could 
not sleep. He first climbed up on his look-out on 
the windmill to get a good view of the fire. He 
soon knew that the river would stop it. So after 
admiring it for some hours he determined he would 
walk down the canon to see how others were far- 
ing. Near the “hive” he heard the tramping and 
blowing of fleeing buffaloes. He knew that no 
human being could stand before them. Yet they 
were already near, and were coming apace. No 
time was to be lost. Quickly he dashed into the 
“hive,” and not too soon. 

“ H oa ! Hoa — o — o — o ! ’ ’ 

He had rushed against a saddled horse. It was 
not he, but another man that had spoken. The 
doctor usually was a very cool-headed man. But 
now he felt as though his hair were lifting his hat 
from his head, and cold chills crept over his back. 
He was thoroughly frightened. 

“Who — who’s — h — here?” he managed with dif- 
ficulty to stammer out, for he was scarcely able to 
say a word. Nor could he longer conceal the fact. 


64 the secret of the CAf^ON. 

“It’s me,” said a bass voice, “and what d’ye 
want in this ’ere hole, stranger?” The doctor im- 
mediately recognized the tones of the scout. This 
reassured him. So he took a few long breaths, 
and when he had recovered his wind, he replied, 
“Well, I was afraid of the animals that were rush- 
ing up the canon, but had not expected to run in 
here only to be worse frightened.” 

“ Why, doc, is that you !” said the scout, press- 
ing his hand, which he suddenly dropped. “ I am 
glad to see you, and — ” 

Bang ! Bang ! A buffalo had been pushed by his 
fellows into the arbor-like entrance. Quick as the 
lightning’s flash, the scout had brought him down 
with a bullet. The second shot had felled one just 
on the outside. His horse was so familiar with 
such sounds, he only pricked his ears and closed 
his eyes again for another nap. 

As though nothing extraordinary had happened, 
the scout continued the conversation. “Well, 
since you have ferreted out my shebang, I must 
make a league with you. Tet’s be friends. If you 
reveal where you found me, my success is at an 
end.” And, by the light of a match, he.trustfully 
gazed at the doctor. They had no difficulty in 
understanding each other. 

“Never mind, you may depend on me,” said the 


THE BIRTH OF A CITY. 65 

doctor, as he warmly, still somewhat nervously, 
grasped the frontiersman’s hand. 

“Thanks,” replied the scout, “your scalp and 
your horse shall be safe as the reward of your faith- 
fulness.” 

The doctor was too wary to ask how. Thus 
these two men talked several hours in the darkness 
of the cave. At last the scout removed a block of 
clay from the side of the cone and took out a lan- 
tern which he lit. The striking figure of this 
strange man was thus revealed, but the doctor 
would not venture to ask his name. And he did 
not give it. Nor would he explain the history of 
the peculiar place in which they had now met. 
What secret or mystery was yet connected with it ? 

“Well,” finally said the son of the plains, “I 
must turn my horse out to graze. I guess all the 
beasts have settled down by this time.” 

The doctor turned homeward, saying, “Good 
night ; come to see me ; the latch-string is always 
out for you.” 

“ All right. Thank you. I will, the very next 
time I turn up in this neighborhood. I guess I’ll 
now turn in, too, for the night. So long!” 

The moon was shining brightly when the doctor 
came to his lonely dug-out. He was startled and 
surprised to find a dog in distress scratching and 

5 


66 


THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 


howling at his door. Coming nearer, he discov- 
ered Duke there. Running up to him, moaning 
and barking, he looked most appealingly into the 
doctor’s face. “My dear fellow,” said he, patting 
him on the back, “what is the matter? Why are 
you here ?’ ’ 

As though he uderstood the words, the noble 
animal ran down the canon a few paces and then 
stopped, as if waiting for the doctor to follow. He 
did so. At the fork in the canon, Duke turned 
down toward the home of his mistress. On 
arriving at her tent, he found it lying flat on the 
ground. 

“Miss Smiley!” he called at the top of his 
voice. He was excited. 

“Sir,” weakly answered a voice from under the 
pile of poles and cords and canvas. 

“Are you in here?” asked he. 

“ Rather under,” she replied, “ at least I can not 
get out.” 

“This is too bad,” said the doctor, as he began 
pulling away some of the boards and stakes. “ I 
never dreamed anything could happen you to- 
night. Are you hurt?” 

“ No, sir, but not a little scared,” said she, trying 
to laugh. 

The doctor remained serious. He inwardly 


the: birth of a city. 


67 


blamed himself for not having before thought of 
her. Besides, the memory of his own recent fright 
was yet fresh. 

“Just lie perfectly still. I shall soon have you 
out of this plight.’’ He now spoke calmly. 

Within the next five minutes Duke was leaping 
up to her face and licking her hand. He was 
wild with delight over the rescue of his mistress. 
Nor did she fail to reward him with many 
caresses. 

She did not know just what had demolished her 
tent. A herd of deer had come near it. But they 
were standing still and panting after their long 
run from the fire. Duke had been out watching 
them. Whining with terror, he had suddenly 
rushed in. Another animal had seemed to run 
upon the herd and caused a second stampede. 
Several deer had run against the tent and broken 
it down into a heap. 

“ Ah ! ” said the doctor, after hearing her 
account, “in my opinion a mountain lion did 
this work. I have never seen or heard one, but 
some hunters lately discovered a straying pair not 
far from here, and coming down I heard a strange, 
whining cry on the bluffs, which I imagine might 
have been produced by such prowlers.” 

Day was now purpling the east. So after taking 


68 


THE SECRET OF THE GASCON. 


Miss Smiley to Opsal’s and fixing up her tent, the 
doctor returned to his own lodge. On the way he 
found the body of a deer whose torn condition 
proved that there was either a lion, or some animal 
akin to it, in the district. He had not left home 
without his gun, but he saw no puma in the gulch, 
nor inhabitant in Robin Hood’s Palace. All was 
silent as death. 

On that morning the surveyors began to lay out 
a town near the Fort, Mr. Snide immediately em- 
ployed them to lay out an “addition” to it He 
guessed the new western railroad would pass 
through or near his land, and he was “ goin to git 
there fust.” The first street was no sooner staked 
off than every lot was secured by saloon-keepers, 
who immediately began to put up shanties for 
their business. Mr. Snide himself built a low log- 
house in the centre, beside a lone cedar, and this 
served as grog-shop, grocery and post office com- 
bined. Everything was sold at ten prices. A 
wandering missionary had foresight enough to ask 
the railroad company for a church site, and he 
succeeded in securing it as a donation. Others 
soon took the hint, and thus the foundations of 
Christianity were laid in thousands of western 
towns. In this manner Cedarville had its begin- 
ning. Thus the town was born and christened. 


THE BIRTH OF A CITY. 


69 


As is usual in such cases, Mammon seemed to be 
the tutelary deity of the new town. Everybody 
rushed for the best locations and the first business 
advantages, as if people were to live for this world 
only. The shrewd overreached the simple, the 
strong elbowed the weak out of their way. Ma- 
terialism had full sway. Everybody seemed bent 
on making fabulous fortunes in a day. Gamblers 
found here their paradise. “Eet each one take 
care of JSTo. i and the devil take the hindmost,” 
was the creed of Cedarville. There was to be a 
survival only of the fittest, and the fittest were the 
most unscrupulous, those who possessed neither 
heart nor conscience. Gold was all in all, and God 
nothing, in Cedarville. 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE VvHNDMIEE. 

The great fire resulted in Miss Smiley’s taking 
up her residence with the Benders, during such 
parts of the year as she might be absent from her 
claim. Uncle Sam is kind enough to allow all 
homesteaders to go away to make a livelihood. It 
is not his wish that the people should starve in 
their dug-outs. He is a personage of sense and 
mercy. 

Mrs. Bender was glad enough to cheer her lone- 
liness with so genial a companion. But the ques- 
tion was, how to accommodate the newcomer in a 
one-roomed house. Under such circumstances, no 
one in the East would invite company to stay over 
night. But by a skilful arrangement of curtains, 
or hanging sheets, the western ladies have learned 
to multiply one room into many. Thus one more 
could lodge in the Cottonwood Ranch, as the home 
of our friends was now called. 

Mr. Bender next made arrangements to bore a 
well. He was tired hauling water from the river, 


THE V/INDMIEE. 


71 


four miles away, though some of his neighbors had 
to fetch theirs twelve miles. He would now draw 
his from the earth by means of a windmill, dozens 
of which, like great butterflies in the air, are the 
first visible signs one sees of a town on the prairie. 
He was now himself making the high pyramidal 
frame on which the wheel was to be placed. Bath- 
ing her face in the flooding rays of morning light, 
and breathing in fresh quaffs of the balmy air. 
Miss Smiley and her hostess were watching the 
proud carpenter, as he was putting the finishing 
touches upon his work. The subject of their con- 
versation can be guessed from such remarks as fol- 
low : 

“ But what can I do here? I would only be in 
the way, and I can not be contented where I am 
not useful,” said the grateful guest. 

Why, giving me company is usefulness enough, 
I am sure. True, there is Mrs. Norton, that Bos- 
ton lady; they say she has lived out among the 
cowboys now four years, with no white woman 
nearer than ten miles. But I am too timid and 
likely too old for such a life. This wild and 
woolly west, as you call it, is too much for my 
nerves. I need my own sex to keep me in heart.” 

“Now, come,” said her friend, “that is all very 
well said, but how much comfort can you have 


72 thk secret of the caRon. 

from a female protector? Besides, I miglit do some- 
thing worthy, and still be your guardian-angel, if 
you must have one. But what shall it be?” 

“ I will tell you this evening what you can do,” 
replied the mother, and the words were spoken 
with an earnestness such as only a woman with a 
deep purpose ever manifests. 

At noon the men had found water. They had 
to bore only twenty-seven feet when they touched 
the crust called “hard-pan,” and right below that 
was good water. Indeed, at four feet they found 
some already, but that was alkaline, not fit to use 
or drink. 

Mr. Bender had long felt the need of a work- 
shop. He had therefore taken some cedar-logs to 
the government saw-mill at the fort and thus 
secured boards for the purpose. A small room 
could easily be attached to the frame of the wind- 
mill, which was very wide and strong at the base. 
It would serve the double purpose of workshop 
and springhouse, that great Pennsylvania luxury. 
Only here the spring would be wanting. But the 
wife had already thought of a much higher 
purpose — one which men would often forget and 
which, alas! not all women always remember. 
When the building was finished, the ladies came 
out to view it. 


THE WINDMIEIv. 


73 


“Isn^t it neat?’’ exclaimed Miss Smiley. 

“Yes, too nice for a shop,” replied her hostess. 

‘‘Not too nice, though, for a Pennsylvania 
springhouse,” remarked Mr. Bender, with a 
twinkle. 

“No,” said the wife and mother, “this would 
be a good shop and a good springhouse, but it 
might serve a better purpose; it would be a fine 
school-room. We have been wondering how to 
educate our children. Other people around have 
been making inquiries in that line. Now we will 
just put seats in, and tell the neighbors that Miss 
Smiley will open a school here.” The thoughtful 
woman had thus relieved her bosom of a feeling 
which had long burned for utterance. 

After a pause the well-pleased mechanic an- 
swered, “Who can resist? When she will, she 
will, and I am your obedient servant.” And he 
laid down his tools as a sign that he had changed 
his plans. “I will do my part,” he added, as he 
gazed at Miss Smiley. 

“As far as my part goes,” said the teacher 
eagerly, feeling that she had been appealed to, 
“ here am I, ready to put both hands and all my 
heart into the good mission of teaching the young 
idea how to shoot.” 

This conversation was the beginning of a blessed 


74 THK secret of the canon. 

work. By December all the arrangements to open 
the school had been made. Miss Smiley moved 
all her things to the Bender Ranch for the winter. 
Having determined to build a house the coming 
spring, her tent was put up in the lawn to keep it 
from moulding. It would serve by day as a play- 
house for the boys and girls, and by night as a 
lodge for Duke. The organ was placed in the 
windmill-house. Though the boards for the seats 
could not so soon be gotten, the date for opening 
the enterprise was fixed, and Samuel and Ollie 
one afternoon bestrode the bare backs of the grays, 
to tell the people when to send the children. They 
cantered away, trying to give an Indian war-whoop. 
The valleys echoed their savage yell, ‘ ‘ Pawnee ! 
Pawnee — ee ! Pawnee — ee — e !” 

They had no sooner gone, than an elderly man, 
with hair almost white, and careworn but kindly 
face, rode up to the door. More by his mien than 
by his weather-stained clothing would one have 
been led to take a second look at him. In his sad- 
dle bags he carried some books. A roll of blankets 
was strapped to the rear of his saddle. Even a 
shot gun and a tin bucket dangled from his 
shoulders. He seemed to be accustomed to out- 
door life. But a good judge of character would at 
once have seen that he was a gentleman. The 


THE WINDMIEE. 


75 


traces of culture and of sorrow in his face were 
strong. The benevolence that shone out of his 
eyes made one feel that it was of others more than 
of himself that he was thinking. 

As soon as he pulled the reins, his pony put 
down his head and began to nibble grass. 

“Why, brother Bender,” said the stranger as he 
was alighting, ‘ ‘ I did not know you were living 
here.” 

“Yes, here is our residence,” he replied, as he 
recognized the minister, who had buried little Eva 
Clarke, “ and I am very glad to meet you again, 
though I don’t know your name.” 

“ That,” said the minister, as he was extending 
his hand, “is Weissman. I am missionating up 
and down this great plain. I have a pretty large 
field.” 

“I am glad you have come to this part of it, 
for we need the gospel badly enough here. Come 
in, come in,” energetically urged Mr. Bender, as 
though he meant to make up for not having said 
so sooner, “ the folks will be glad to see you.” 

They were. Mrs. Bender received the man of 
God with tears of joy. She and Miss Smiley had 
just been talking over their plans about a proposed 
Sunday-school. The coming of a minister, whom 
they felt they could trust, they regarded as a 
special providence. 


76 THE SECRET OF THE CANON. 

We cannot repeat all the conversation of these 
good people, who had come from the same state 
and who had many common acquaintances. Suf- 
fice it to say that it was prolonged until at last 
Mrs. Bender hurriedly started up, saying, “ Excuse 
me, Mr. Weissman, I almost forgot to get supper.” 

“Well, you are easily excused,” said he with a 
smile, “ for we cannot live without bread, though 
I would just now rather talk than eat.” 

“And you shall,” said the teacher, rising and 
gently pushing her hostess back into her chair, “ I 
will get supper. I will do Martha’s part to-day.” 

Mrs. Bender despised shams of all kinds, espec- 
ially pretense, but she could never doubt her 
friend’s sincerity. So the teacher became cook for 
that evening. 

Meanwhile the boys had not returned. But 
they were now riding down toward the last house 
which they were to visit. Of course their parents 
as yet knew nothing of their whereabouts. So 
when supper was ready, Mrs. Bender said, “We 
will not wait for the boys. It is late. And they 
will eat by themselves.” 

But her maternal heart, true to her own as the 
needle to the pole, was turning every moment 
toward her absent children. What could be de- 
laying them? During the meal the conversation 


THK WINDiMI!.!.. 


77 


was carried on mostly by Mr. Bender and the min- 
ister. It was very interesting to them, and likely 
would be so to us ; but we will not repeat it here. 

At last darkness spread over the plain. The boys 
were now trotting their horses up the branch of 
the canon toward the “hive.” Before they reached 
it, an animal sprang from an overhanging bank 
and lighted upon Ollie’s horse. It stuck to his 
flanks and there clutched in the horse’s flesh like a 
cat. The horses snorted wildly and plunged for- 
ward at full speed. At the fork they turned so 
suddenly that Ollie, numb with fright, was swung 
to the opposite bank. Almost at the same moment 
the crack of a rifle resounded through the ravine. 
On went the horses — one without a rider, the other 
carrying the helpless Samuel. We can imagine 
the shock which his coming gave to all at home. 
Quickly taking a lantern and his gun, Mr. Bender 
leaped on Samuel’s horse. The other one was 
wounded and wild with terror. As he went up 
the canon he met Ollie on his way back. He was 
not much hurt. His father was so glad to see him 
that he scarcely was able to speak. He quickly 
alighted, and lifted his boy upon Tib’s back, saying, 
“Now ride home, so mamma can see you. I will 
call on the doctor before I come.” Ollie soon met 
his mother and Mr. Weissman on their way up the 


78 the: secret of the caI^on. 

canon. She embraced her boy, and silently 
thanked God for his safety, feeling as though she 
had received him back from the grave. 

The doctor had heard the racket and Mr. Ben- 
der found him leaving his quarters for investiga- 
tion. He and Mr. Bender turned their lights in 
every direction. 

“Here,’’ at last exclaimed the doctor, “here is 
blood ! And here is the beast — a mountain lion!” 
Mr. Bender stooped down and gazed upon the 
huge tiger-like animal, and saw a bullet wound 
right behind the left front shoulder. 

“Now, doctor,” said he, “ you must be pretend- 
ing. You knew he was here. You must have shot 
him. Who else?” 

“ Indeed, my friend, I don’t know who did it. I 
saw a flash, heard a report, but that is absolutely 
all I can tell you about it.” 

“Well, I must believe you,” replied Mr. Bender, 
“but this is a mystery. Is this place haunted or 
what is this? It seems bewitched, I declare.” 

Within the “hive” was one who was hearing all 
that was said and who knew all about the matter. 
He did not, however, appear to explain. But 
when Mr. Bender had gone away, he came out of 
his lodge to talk with his trusted friend. 

The puma, or American lion, is simply an im- 


THE WINDMILL. 


79 


mense cat, about six feet in length from tip of tail 
to tip of nose. Its long tail is bushy at the end, 
but without the tuft of the lion’s. Nor has it even 
tlie semblance of a mane. Its general color is 
brownish-yellow. Its lower parts are a dirty white. 
Its head is very small for its large body. It is an 
animal of wonderful strength, and has especially 
powerful claws. 

Such information as the above the doctor was 
giving our friends the next day, while he was per- 
forming the part of the taxidermist. 

“ This fellow, said he, “ must be stuffed and sent 
to the museum of my college.” 

It having been determined to have services and 
to begin a Sabbath- school on the following Sab- 
bath, Mr. Weissman and Mr. Bender were soon 
going about to invite the neighbors. They asked 
the doctor to take part in the singing. 

“ I am a poor specimen of a religious professor, 
but I will do what I can ; the good work ought to 
be encouraged,” was his ready answer. As Mr. 
Bender regarded him as a man who always did 
more than he promised, they counted on having 
made a fine acquisition to their project. 

Mr. Weissman naturally was interested in the 
cave. But it was already toward evening when 
he entered it, and a rain-cloud hanging before the 


8o 


THE SECRET OE THE CAf^ON. 


sun cast a gloom over the canon. He therefore 
could not see it very plainly, but the curiosity im- 
pressed him profoundly. A supernatural feeling 
seemed to fix him to the spot. He stood there 
some time, with uncovered head, in silence. He 
could not then have told why. But an old, sad 
thought came into his mind, and he went out. A 
heavy shower was at hand. They hastened home. 

Sunday was a great occasion at the Bender 
. ranch. The first to come was Mr. Kahn. He 
was ambitious to “ lerren de langwich ofif de goon- 
drie.” He was making progress. He would bring 
the children in the afternoon. Tindborgs in the 
old country had already been taken with ex- 
perience-meetings and the American exhorter. 
Still they came. A number of Scandinavians, 
having learned that this was a “ Lutheran prest,” 
attended service to-day, for the first time in this 
country, and still remain in the fatherland-con- 
fession. Opsals with their Thea came early. 
From that day to this she and Ruth have been in- 
separable friends. Later the Hansens with their 
two children arrived. Olaf and Samuel formed a 
strong attachment that day. Christine, with her 
quiet ways, seemed most congenial to Ollie. 

But few had asked to what, if any, denomination 
the minister belonged. Several Catholics and Jews, 


THE WINDMILL. 


8l 


some Presbyterians, Campbell ites, German Re- 
formed, as well as a few Unitarians were there, and 
some without name or faith. The doctor called the 
whole assembly a “mixtum compositum.’’ The 
doctor himself was present, of course, and so was 
Captain Holman, accompanied by oiir old friend, 
the scout. Twenty-six persons composed this 
frontier audience. The pulpit was a sugar-barrel 
with a cracker-box on top of it. Boards, resting at 
both ends on nail-kegs, served as pews. Nora 
McCabe and the doctor as choir led the singing. 
Miss Smiley presided at the organ. Nobody be- 
came sleepy. Nobody thought the sermon long. 
Nobody criticised the minister. It was a delight- 
ful, even a fascinating service to all. Some were 
so happy in it that tears of joy filled their eyes. 
One of these was Mrs. Bender. Another was a 
lady from Pennsylvania who had come thirty-three 
miles on horseback to hear a Uutheran minister. 
When the service was over Mr. Weissman begged 
permission to make a personal announcement. He 
said, “ Dear friends, some years ago my two boys, 
my only children, came to the eastern part of this 
state. For some unaccountable reason they have 
become lost to us. For two years we have not 
been able to learn whether they are dead or alive. 
I have left my wife and home in the east and have 
6 


82 


THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 


come here to preach the gospel as opportunity 
offers, and to search for my missing children. I 
will be grateful to any of you who may be able to 
give me a trace of them.” 

He sat down. Deep interest possessed every 
heart. Did the sermon touch a tender chord in the 
scout’s bosom? He sat there with his gun between 
his feet and his hat hanging on it. At first he 
gazed straight at the minister. But he soon 
dropped his head over until it rested on his gun. 
Some thought he was sleeping. As soon as the 
benediction was pronounced he rushed out and 
went up the canon. 

“I am afraid the only reason I came was be- 
cause you are a Pennsylvanian,” said Captain 
Holman to Mr. Weissman, while they were shak- 
ing hands after the service, “but I enjoyed the 
sermon. The last Tutheran minister I heard, and 
that was eighteen long years ago, was Rev. Steck, 
then at Pottsville, Pa.” 

“I knew him well. But, Captain, I am sorry 
you have lost your good old customs out here.” 

“For one thing we must, or want to, maybe. 
But the Indians have kept us busy too. But I’ll 
reform now, if you stay with us.” The Captain 
spoke with good-natured humor, but yet with 
earnest emphasis. 


THE WINDMILL. 83 

“Not now, Captain. Now I must roam,” said 
the minister rather sadly. 

“Well, good bye,” said the Captain; “if you 
can, come to the Fort and see me. And when 
you preach here again, let me know.” 

The people that had come in wagons had 
brought lunch with them. This they now ate 
with coffee furnished by Mrs. Bender. Mr. Weiss- 
man made it a point to speak a word to all of 
them. The Scandinavians and Germans plied 
him with questions. “Air du Tuteran prest?” 
“Sind sie kuterisch?” They had been con- 
fused so often that they meant to be sure this time. 
Mr. Kahn was so elated because this minister 
could speak German that he almost forgot to fetch 
the children to the Sunday-school. Mr. Weiss- 
man was surprised to find, among his flock, a 
graduate of one of our female colleges, who told 
him she had come West “ to grow up with the 
country.” More and more it surprised him to 
learn how all the social grades of life and intellect 
meet in every small western community. 

At three o’clock everything was ready for the 
“ Tunday-kool.” A few copies of the “Golden 
Chain” were at hand. Ruth, Samuel and Ollie 
knew by heart those good old pieces, “Royal 
Proclamation,” and “In the flight.” When the 


84 the secret of the CAf^ON. 

chorus would end and the interlude was being 
played, Martin would come in with his own tune 
after the others, “ In le ligh, in le ligh of Dod.” 
This part of the program created a smile, which 
the earnest singer in no way heeded. It was 
a worse predicament when Duke slowly walked 
up to the organ, sat down beside his mistress, 
and began to sing, “Bow, wow!” “Tsh!” said 
she, and he was quiet forthwith ; but he looked 
sullen and dissatisfied, as much as to say, “Why 
can’t I sing if I want to?” There were thirty 
scholars present. All enjoyed themselves. It 
was agreed to call it “The Mission Sunday- 
school.” Mr. Bender, by unanimous choice, was 
almost compelled to act as superintendent. 
The doctor. Miss Smiley, and Nora McCabe 
agreed to teach classes. Mr. Weissman gave en- 
couraging words. The session was concluded by 
a short speech from the doctor. “I hope,” said 
he, “ this school will not have the experience I 
had a few nights ago. I found a leak in my roof 
right above my bed. As the bed was nailed fast, 
what could I do but fix my tub up there to catch 
the water? You remember the rain. All went 
well till about two o’clock in the morning. But 
then the tub got too full, bent over on one side, 
and disgorged its contents right on the spot below. 


THE WINDMIEE. 


85 


but my bed was there and I was in it, fast asleep ! ’ ’ 
He could not for a minute say more. Even the 
minister smiled, and the boys and girls did worse. 
He ended his speech with the moral, “I hope no 
cold water will ever be thrown on this school.” 

All went home as happy as birds. Mrs. Bender 
pronounced it the first real Eord’s Day on the 
prairie. The good seed had been dropped in a 
waste place of Zion. It v/ould return after many 
days, as bread that had been cast upon the waters. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE pioneer’s JOURNEY. 

When Mr. Weissman left Cedarville, he turned 
his face toward the West. He soon came to the 
place where the south and north branches of the 
Platte unite. Within their forks he found a trad- 
ing post and a few settlers. They had built a 
small log school-house for the education of their 
little ones. In this Mr. Weissman preached the 
first sermon that was delivered in what is now" the 
city of North Platte, where, notwithstanding this 
fact, the Lutheran was the last of seven denomina- 
tions to build a church. But it now has a promis- 
ing congregation there. Here Mr. Weissman was 
detained a day to baptize some children. Here 
also a German lady went from man to man in the 
log huts and tents to make up a purse for him. 
She succeeded admirably. Having the foresight 
to know what an important place this might be, 
he made provisions that church-lots should be 
secured as soon as the survey should be completed. 
These made the future work there possible. 

(86) 


THE pioneer’s journey. 87 

But our pioneer again made ready for his 
journey. The last night of his stay was made 
horrible by a murder v/hich was committed over a 
game of cards. He proceeded to the tent whence 
the report of a pistol had come, and found the 
corpse lying on the outside, while within the 
players were keeping up the game, as though 
nothing had happened. This heartless scene 
haunted him for many months. After leaving 
this place, his course lay along the south branch 
of the Platte. The country looked desolate. The 
grass was dry and brown. Only here and there a 
tree, with an insecure hold on the bank of the 
stream, was visible. The narrow, dusty buffalo 
tracks extended like ribbons from the water north 
and south toward all parts of the sand-hills, which 
here crowd more and more upon the diminishing 
valley. Stillness, unbroken save by the chirp of a 
thousand- prairie dogs and small birds, reigned 
painfully. Mr. Weissman sometimes sang and 
talked to himself, just to break the monotony. 
The second day he met a solitary “squaw man,” 
that is, a white settler, or trader, who had married 
an Indian woman by giving eight or ten ponies for 
her. Mr. Weissman exchanged a few words with 
him, but did not ask him any questions. They 
rode on a cart drawn by an ox and a pony. The 


88 


THE SECRET OF THE CARON. 


squaw sat on a bundle of skins, while the man, 
with a corn-cob pipe in his mouth, was dangling 
his legs over the side of the cart and dreamily 
puffing away the smoke with apparently the ut- 
most contentment. His long eyelids hung down 
so far as to make it seem as though he was look- 
ing only out of the corners of his eyes down along 
his long beaked nose. His long whiskers and 
uncombed hair, browned skin and altogether 
greasy appearance did not, in any degree, improve 
his otherwise uninviting mien. Mr. Weissman 
concluded that this fellow would be friend or foe, 
just as his own self-interest dictated, and hence 
soon passed on. The stranger was no less a 
personage than Mr. Snide on his way to trade 
with the Cheyenne Indians. 

Toward evening, but an hour before the sun 
went down, he watered his pony and then turned 
aside into a basin-shaped, hidden spot to find a 
lodging place. Here he was surrounded by slop- 
ing hills about two hundred feet high. Nobody 
could see him without coming to the very edge of 
the basin. He tethered his pony to a thin rope, 
and the faithful fellow was soon helping himself 
to the succulent buffalo grass. He then made a 
fire on the dry bed of a slough, which the spring 
rains and melting snows had once formed there, 


THE pioneer’s JOURNEY. 89 

and where the wild animals of the plains had 
trampled the vegetation into the mud. He boiled 
some coffee which the thoughtful Mrs. Bender had 
given him. He ate some cold meat and bread, and 
then made up his mind, as soldiers say, to recon- 
noiter a little. He went on the nearest bluff. To 
the north the hills were glistening white with 
barren sands. They have since become covered 
with sod. To the south rose the swells of the 
prairie, like ocean -billows. On one of them a 
flock of antelopes were basking in the sun. 
Down along the river thousands of wild geese and 
ducks were cackling and screaming, and still other 
thousands were joining their revel. But what 
now comes moving over hill and level upland, as 
though the very prairie were beginning to walk? 
A herd of buffalo. On they come, in files, one 
after the other. Hundreds they number, but the 
pioneer soon stops counting, for they are approach- 
ing him. He is well aware that if he gets into 
their way they will crush him to death. But on 
they come directly toward him. Five of their 
beaten paths converge near where he is standing. 
He does not know what to do. The time is too 
short to gather up his traps and ride away. He 
fires off his gun to frighten them, but they take no 
notice of it. Silently, like a dauntless army, the 


90 THE SECRET OF THE CA^ON. 

herd comes toward him. In sheer desperation he 
quickly pulls together a little heap of wild rye, 
lights a match, and sets it afire. A gentle wind 
fanned the blaze. Soon he could stand on a small 
burnt spot and see a wide semicircular wave of fire 
rolling away from him toward the brutes. The 
foremost stopped and tried to turn. The rest 
pushed on from the rear, and soon there was a fear- 
ful huddle. Buffalo ran against buffalo, piles of 
them seeming to rise up in the air, crushing one 
another down to the ground, bellowing and plung- 
ing, like engines in a wreck. At last the flames 
divided them, and right and left they, with shaggy 
heads bent to the earth, wildly ran toward the 
river. As Mr. Weissman was now safe, he watched 
the frantic race with amazement as well as with 
gratitude. But now he wished he could stop the 
raging fire which in clouds of smoke and flame 
was sweeping on like a fury. But he could only 
comfort himself with the thought that there were 
no human dwellings in its course. He stood help- 
less before his own work. As dusk was now 
falling on the landscape and the conflagration was 
weirdly lighting up the evening sky, he observed 
to the west a large company of human figures. In 
the gloaming he could not discern what they 
were, but he at last saw that they were fording the 


river. 


THE pioneer’s JOURNEY. 91 

As he thus was intently watching them, he was 
startled by the noise of horse-hoofs behind. His 
first thought was that his pony had torn loose, but 
on turning he saw our old friend, the scout, riding 
toward him. His horse was foaming and blood 
was flowing from a wound in his flanks. 

“Well, elder, what’n arth yer doin’ here? Is 
yer goin’ to convart them Injuns?” Thus spoke 
the scout as he alighted. 

Mr. Weissman almost unconsciously reached out 
his hand, and said, “ Injuns? Are those Indians?” 

“Yell, look at ’em,” replied the scout, as he 
handed the minister a spy-glass. With this he 
could easily see what they were. 

“Them’s Ogalallies,” said his companion, “an’ 
ye chased ’em over yonder with yer tarnel fire, and 
drove the buffalo on my horse.” 

“How do you know that, sir?” asked Mr. 
Weissman, somewhat frightened at the idea. 

“I seed it,” said the man who, to the mission- 
ary, seemed to see everything, “ an I tell ye, them 
redskins ’ll ferret out the cause of this yere fire all 
right, you bet. ’ ’ 

“Well, friend, I will choose you as my general 
to help me out of this difficulty. I know nothing 
of this country, and very little about the nature of 
our enemy. And I beg your pardon for driving 
the buffaloes on you.” 


92 THE SECRET OF THE CAI^ON. 

The scout only replied, “ Stay yere, elder, till I 
come back again,” and went on toward the Oga- 
lalla ford. Mr. Weissman had been lonely before, 
but such solitude as he experienced after the scout 
left him alone, he had never before felt. Soon all 
the stars of heaven seemed to shine in the azure 
above. But there was no moon. No sound could 
be heard. Not a single thing, living or dead, 
seemed to stir. But at intervals the lurid glare of 
the fire, as it would mount a new elevation, lighted 
up the prairie. Mr. Weissman had no fear. He 
was surprised at his own calmness. He at last 
wrapped himself in his blankets and laid down to 
rest. The great thought “ So near nature, so near 
God,” filled him with the feeling of immensity. 
He prayed and would have fallen asleep, but a 
new enemy was coming near. A pack of wolves 
were howling at no great distance. The mission- 
ary would fain have built a fire to keep them off, 
but he was rightly afraid that it might attract the 
Indians. But his suspense was broken by the 
scouBs return. He galloped along so briskly that 
before he came up to him, Mr. Weissman, judging 
that they would have to move, began to saddle his 
pony. The scout told him that they would have 
to ride into the river. Without asking any ques- 
tions, he followed his chosen guide in this exploit. 


THE pioneer’s JOURNEY. 93 

They quietly rode their horses into the middle of 
the stream, and there, np to the girths in water, 
they remained still. In a short time dimly-o‘nt- 
lined figures cautiously moved up the very side 
which they had just a few moments before left. 
They soon seemed to be satisfied where the fire 
had its source. At least they again returned by 
the same route by which they had come. Our 
friends, their boots and socks soaked with water, 
and chilled to the bone, now came out to the basin 
again. They made a fire of small logs, which they 
found on the river-bottom, and with their feet 
toward the coals fell asleep and did not awake till 
morning-dawn. Then they breakfasted together 
and separated, the scout going east and the mis- 
sionary west. 

We can not relate all the incidents of the 
pioneer’s journey. The weather was perfect. The 
road was good. But the nights were cold and the 
perils many. A man of Mr. Weissman’s age 
should not have undertaken such a task, but it 
was a heart-matter with him. Tove impelled 
him, and nothing seemed hard. 

It is strange how many children, whose parents 
have lost all trace of them, there are in the West. 
The causes are many. Ingratitude, neglect, 
shame, miscarriage of mail, these are some of 


94 "THE SECRET OF THE CANON. 

them. None of them could satisfy him, but he 
did not yet know that, in the case of his sons, it 
was treachery, not on their part, but on the part of 
some one else. The scout could have revealed 
part of the secret, but he did not yet dare to do it. 
He must first have all of it. Little did the mis- 
sionary dream, when he and his comrade spent the 
night together, that the to him fascinating, though 
enigmatical scout, was as earnestly hunting for the 
last link of the same chain of which he himself 
was still wanting the first. But Providence was 
leading his servant well. 

Imagine now the astonishment and misery 
which this sorrowful man experienced when, on 
the twelfth night of this journey, he found the re- 
mains of an old trunk which actually bore the 
name of one of his boys. He had as usual turned 
aside from the common route to sleep in a small 
canon. There, in a lonely spot, where no one 
would have imagined that a white man’s foot ever 
had trodden, the unhappy father discovered the 
first link. He prized the decaying old piece of 
leather more than if it had been a casket of dia- 
monds. He spelled the name over and over again. 
Then the fact that this was all the clue he had be- 
gan to tantalize him. The very fiends of the pit 
seemed to mock him for his faith. “Were they 


THE pioneer’s journey. 


95 


indeed ever here? Or was George alone? Are 
they dead or alive? Or has one been taken and 
the other left?” I suppose no father before gold- 
plated altar ever prayed as fervently as this man 
of God prayed before that old trunk. All night 
through he continued his supplication, and at 
dawn the angels seemed to comfort him with 
almost audible voice, saying, “Thou shalt know, 
thou shalt know.” 

But there was another source of comfort to him, 
and that came from usefulness. He was now 
fully possessed by the missionary idea. As his 
Master had done, so he would go about doing 
good. The opportunity to do so always came. 
This IS one of the things in this life that never 
fail. 

The thirteenth day of this journey he came to 
California Gulch, a mining settlement in the 
Rocky Mountains. Here he saw humanity at its 
worst in America. Here the basest passions of the 
human breast reigned supreme. But the unassum- 
ing minister, after his mission was known, was 
welcomed by those depraved sons of Adam. They 
did not care much for preaching, but when they 
began to see the argument of good works, they 
became willing to listen to it. He had taken the 
saw out of a woman’s hand and sawed her wood. 


96 THE SECRET OE THE CAf^ON. 

Thus the “ Rector ” had won an English family. 
He had shaken hands with a number of men 
whose hands were soiled with earth. That won 
some. He could talk with the Germans. They 
universally, whether Jews, merely intellectual be- 
lievers, or infidels, espoused his cause. Having 
discovered that he was on the right side in the 
war, the Unionists, greatly in the majority, began 
to say they “swore by Weissman.” He prayed 
with the sick, buried the dead, most of whom had 
been killed in fights and accidents, did not berate 
their self-confessed sins, but kindly told them the 
truth as it is in Jesus. He took men as they were 
and not at what they ought to have been, which 
they certainly were not. Thus he remained at 
this peculiar work in Christ’s name all winter. 
The miners had built a large tent in which he 
was allowed to hold his services. But at last he 
announced that he would hold a farewell- meeting. 
The tent was crowded on the inside and on the 
outside. It was a strange audience. Almost 
every man was armed. But many a hard face 
looked sad. Under every broad grimy hat was a 
respectful gaze. Under no woolen blouse was 
there an unkind feeling toward the minister. 
This James UaWvSon well knew. He had the repu- 
tation of fearing neither men nor devils. He was 


THE pioneer’s journey. 


97 


called “ Cowboy Jim.” Formerly lie was on a 
ranch. Now he was in the mines. Where next 
he would be, no one could foretell. But wherever 
found, he would have but few rivals in wild dar- 
ing. He was at this farewell-meeting. He be- 
haved decently until the benediction was pro- 
nounced. Then he arose and made the following 
speech : 

“Boys, I’s got somethin’ to say to-day, not as I 
kin preach a sarmint. But, boys, we’s had a down- 
right A No. I parson. He’s done good fer us. 
He’s did our prayin’, fer Beelzebub knows that 
ne’er one of us could do that fer oursels. I believe 
in nothin’, but I do believe in Parson Weissman. 
He’s done the beautiful by us. And now Ps goin’ 
to take up a collect fer ’im, and any man that be 
sich a low cuss as not to give nothin’. I’ll meet him 
after this ineetin’. ’ ’ Suiting the action to the word, 
he pulled out an ugly revolver and with his big 
hat proceeded to “do the beautiful” by his minis- 
ter. When the large receptacle came back, he 
poured two hundred dollars into Mr. Weissman’s 
lap. Jim did not have to “meet” a single man. 
Every one had contributed his “ mite ” in gold and 
silver coins. 

Mr. Weissman left the camp by stage the next 
morning. Though he had to leave before day- 
7 


98 THK SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

light, a number of Germans came to see him off. 
They feared they never would see a Lutheran min- 
ister in those regions again, and showed every sign 
of grief at parting from their friend. 

The stage was a great lumbering vehicle drawn 
by four horses. It was full of people, even on the 
top. As it carried the mail, a number of armed 
men accompanied it. All went well while it was 
rolling down over the narrow defiles of the moun- 
tains. A number of grizzly bears were seen scam- 
pering among the rocks, but they kept at a harm- 
less distance. But at noon, when the stage had 
entered upon a small round valley, a band of In- 
dians came riding out from behind some cliffs where 
they had been hiding, and with whooping yells and 
brandishing their weapons, circled round the forti- 
fied coach, but without getting within reach of 
bullets. But they finally drew nearer, as if to test 
the strength and bravery of the guard. They soon 
sent a shower of arrows towards the stage, but they 
fell short of the mark. Up to this moment every 
soul on board had kept silent, but now the com- 
mand to fire was given. A good aim had been 
taken, and soon two of the yelling savages were 
rolling on the plain. But now they made a bold 
rush upon the stage, and, as they outnumbered its 
passengers, the consequences would have been ap- 


THE pioneer’s journey. 99 

palling, but just at that moment shooting took 
place in their rear. This unexpected attack, as 
well as the reception which the guards gave them, 
soon brought a dozen of them to the ground, not, 
however, before three of those on top of the stage 
had received wounds. As they were now about to 
be surrounded, the wily Cheyennes fled to the hills. 
A squad of our party was then sent to see who their 
rescuers were, and found them to be a company of 
cowboys on their way to the Gulch. Their leader 
was reported to be wounded in the thigh by an 
arrow. 

Toward evening the stage came to a small min- 
ing camp, where the night was spent. Here Mr. 
Weissman had left his pony with a ranchman. 
He was glad to get his faithful animal back again. 
The next morning he rode behind the stage. He 
hoped there would be no Indians to meet this day. 
Tittle did he think that he and his fellow-travelers 
were in danger of suffering at the hands of white 
men. But near noon again, as they were passing 
through a plain where large boulders, as high as a 
house, were scattered all around, suddenly a num- 
ber of riders in masks and each with a cocked 
rifle surrounded them, crying, “Hands up, hands 
up!” So quick and so unexpected was this 
attack that there was no time to raise a gun. As 


100 


THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 


soon, too, as the passengers discovered that it was 
not blood, but only money, that was wanted, each 
meekly surrendered and allowed his purse to be 
taken. Having secured these and such personal 
adornments as gold watches, and the mail-pouches, 
the robbers were ready to depart. Mr. Weissmau 
fared no better than the rest. His purse and 
watch were appropriated by the leader of the gang. 
But he, when he could do so without being ob- 
served by the others, returned them to the minis- 
ter, at the same time whispering, ‘‘ Here, take ’m 
back and never fergit yer friend. Cowboy Jini.^’ 
Mr. Weissman was astonished. Yet he knew it 
was of no use to reveal the highwayman at that 
moment. But afterwards he worried himself a 
great deal as to whether or not it was his duty to 
tell the authorities what he knew, or whether he 
ought from gratitude to keep the name even of 
such a friend secret from the law’s custodians. At 
last he determined to be loyal to the common 
weal and reveal the enemy of society, but then the 
thought came, “What if I am not believed, and 
only arrested for complicity in this robbery ?’ ’ So 
he, strangely to himself, remained quiet until it 
was too late. 

After the stage had arrived at Denver, Mr. 
Weissman determined to visit a place near Pike’s 


THE pioneer’s journey. IOI 

Peak. Toward evening of his second day’s ride 
he viewed a scene that held him spell-bound. He 
came to a place where there seemed to be a large 
natural garden. It had no trees, but the short 
spring grass was adorning its entrance, which was 
formed by two great rocks of a reddish color jutting 
up out of the ground. They were over two hun- 
dred feet high and only a few yards apart, forming 
a magnificent gateway. Tike two great towers of 
a castle they stood there. The mighty Pike’s 
Peak, with his snowy summit glistening in the 
sun, and the dense shadows of these giant rocks 
lengthening out into the plain, an unbroken still- 
ness reigning all around, produced altogether such 
a scene as Mr. Weissman had never before wit- 
nessed. He was over-awed by its solemn grandeur. 
Close by, and only some yards from the red rocks, 
was a massive white one with a hollow at its base. 
Spurring up his pony to this spot, he exclaimed 
aloud, Behold the works of God!” What was 
his surprise to hear his words repeated by a 
human voice at the red rocks. But on quickly 
turning around, he could see no one. For experi- 
ment’s sake he called out some other words, and 
found that it had been only an echo. 

He now rode in at the towering gateway. New 
surprises met him at every step. To his left a 


102 


THE SECRET OF THE CAfJON. 


number of thin sheets of rock loomed up. As he 
looked through these sheets he saw on the other 
side a single rock that had all the appearance of a 
veiled lady. Strange shapes appeared on his right. 
Elephant heads, maned lions, monstrous frogs on 
huge toadstools, serpentine monsters, stone birds, 
the petrified museum of the universe seemed to be 
here. All lost in wonder, our friend suddenly saw 
three human forms to his left. He was glad, and 
thought to himself, yet spoke it loudly, “Well, we 
often are not as thoroughly alone as we think we 
are.’’ 

But he was just wondering how he should greet 
these new friends, when he discovered that they 
also were stone. They were three in number, and 
seemed to be a robed priest and a couple who were 
getting married by him. They have since been 
named the “ Bridal Party.” But it was now fast 
becoming dark, and Mr. Weissman sought a place 
of rest. As herbage was scarce, he permitted his 
pony to graze at will. He himself lay down 
under the beetling edge of a rock that seemed to 
be balanced on a very small base. But it soon ap- 
peared to swing to and fro, and he ran out in fear. 
He thought it was falling, but soon discovered that 
his imagination was deceived by the darkling twi- 
light. He, however, removed his traps to a spot 


THE pioneer’s journey. 103 

where two stones lay on each other, exactly in the 
form of a toadstool. But after lying down a few 
moments, he was again brought to his feet by a 
howling pack of coyotes. He now climbed up on 
top of his toadstool. It was well that he did so. 
The pack was soon chasing his pony around the 
rocks. No doubt they thought they had found, as 
often before, a discarded army horse, and that they 
could succeed in running him to death ; but the 
pony so quickly outdistanced them that they gave 
up the chase. 

Mr. Weissman now knew that he would have to 
stay where he was. The moon soon arose and 
transported his mind into another world. Thou- 
sands of feet above him glistened the mountains. 
All the ghostly shapes of stone seemed to grin or 
yawn before him. Hobgoblins filled the place 
everywhere. Three black bears came and sniffed 
up toward his perch. He knew they could not 
reach him, but to get them away, he threw down 
his meat. Over this they growled at each other 
awhile and then waddled off. Until long after 
midnight he viewed this wondrous scene. “Well,” 
said he at last, weary with gazing and thinking, 
“ this must be the Garden of the Gods.” Then he 
lay down on his side and rested his weary head 
upon his elbow. He was soon half asleep, though 


104 SECRET OE THE CAf^ON. 

his eyes still opened now and then. All at once a 
cart containing a white man and a squaw appeared 
in his line of vision. He sprang up, but again it 
was a stone, though the sinister countenance of the 
man seemed to linger in the moonlight. He now 
recalled the team he had met on the plains about 
five months before. Once more he lay down, like 
Jacob, upon his hard pillow. This time he fell 
into a sound slumber. And he dreamed. There 
was a radiant path of light extending from his 
rock to the tip of Pike’s Peak. A large company 
of shining ones came down upon it. They were 
swinging their snowy arms to a song. The very 
forms of the garden vibrated responsively to their 
music, and the ambient air was resonant with the 
entrancing melody. And this is what the sweet 
singers said ; 

While others sit by the hearth at home, 

Within the circle of love, 

He is out the plains to roam, 

Or wearily scaling the mountains above, 

In canvas-tepee or cabin of sod, 

To lead the lost sheep to the Garden of God. 

Plis pony knows the canon’s trail. 

And treads the buffalo’s tracks ; 

The marmot’s bark, the piping quail, 

And coyotes howling in nearing packs, 

Break the silence of day and night 
For this lone herald of truth and light. 


THE pioneer’s journey. 


105 


O’er vast and painful solitudes, 

At the red man’s river fords, 

He dreams of coming multitudes 
And broods not long beneath the gourds. 

The hungry must be manna fed. 

The thirsty to the fountain led. 

The reign of steam, the factory’s hum. 

The iron horse’s vim. 

The noise of towns, their jarring thrum. 

Will follow in the path of him 
Who now, upon their future site. 

All wrapt in blankets is sleeping to-night. 

The prayers of the faithful fill the air. 

And angels watch do keep ; 

The morning drives the wolf to his lair, 

The sun lifts up the curtain of sleep. 

The pioneer on his journey goes 
Through Summer’s heat and Winter’s snows. 

The desert blossoms as the rose. 

New springs burst through the soil ; 

Let harps of hope thy cares compose. 

And cheer thy unremitting toil ; 

Yon stars, like evening lamps aflame. 

The glories are that shall crown thy name. 

Such is the song of The Pioneer Missionary, the 
hero of the angels. When will men appreciate him 
thus? 


CHAPTER VIIL 


THE BLIZZARD. 

Miss Smiley’s school was a success from the 
start and, for the children, a continuous picnic. 
The little foreigners were bright, and, best of all, 
very eager to learn. The American-born children 
could no more than keep up with them. Only in 
pronunciation did they lag. It was so hard to 
pronounce “v” and “th.” Little Hans Kahn was 
the funny boy of the school. He was constantly 
turning somersaults and performing other pranks. 
He could not remember the X. So his teacher 
told him that the letter which looked like a saw- 
buck was X. He should remember it in that way. 
Next time she asked him, “ Hans, what is that 
letter?” he innocently and confidently answered, 
“That is the saw-buck. ” Then he looked about 
in surprise, wondering what the whole school 
might be laughing at. He could not see anything 
funny at all in that letter. 

At a certain time he came to such grief that the 
entire school sympathized with him. One of Mr. 
(io6) 


THE BUZZARD. 


107 


Bender’s young heifers was so tame that the 
children had it as a pet. Hans thought he would 
like to ride it. So one day while it was lying 
down, he bestrode its back. But it was not used 
to such rudeness. Up it jumped and ran off, 
like a deer, around the school-house once, twice, 
and poor Hans could neither stop it nor get off. 
After making the third circuit, it stumbled right 
in front of the watering-trough — and, splash, 
Hans was pitched into the water! But the next 
day he had already forgotten his humiliating 
dousing. Now he must preach. He delivered 
his sermon from the top of a barrel. In loud tones 
he told the boys and girls what they must not do. 

“Hans,” asked Thea Opsal from the audience, 
“ what kind of a preacher are you, anyway?” 

“Lutheran,” promptly boasts the parson on the 
barrel. 

“No, yon aren’t,” asserted Ruth Bender; “Lu- 
therans do not immerse.” 

“ Nor do I,” declared Hans. 

“You don’t? But the heifer immersed you 
yesterday. You must be a Baptist.” 

This unexpected sally caused Hans to look like 
a goose. But he pretended not to feel so, but 
began to stamp with his foot like an orator, when, 
lo, the barrel-head broke through and he was pre- 


io8 


THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 


cipitated to the bottom ! This rudely ended the 
sermon, and the audience dispersed. 

It was now the fall of the second year of the 
school. All the pupils were making decided 
progress. Thea Opsal was learning music so fast 
that she was expected soon to play in the Sunday- 
school. For its faithful friends also continued to 
keep that in existence. Benefactors in the East 
were remembering it with gifts of books and 
money. A lady of the German Reformed church 
sent means to buy lumber out of which Mr. Ben- 
der manufactured a black-board. On Sundays 
Dr. Porter filled it with pictures to illustrate the 
lessons. During the week it was filled with 
figures. Ollie Bender seemed to be the most pen- 
sive of all the scholars. He always was solemn 
when they were asked to repeat “Now I lay me 
down to sleep,” or “Our Father.” But we do not 
have space to tell all about the good work that 
was being done in the windmill. 

The beautiful fall weather of Nebraska often 
lasts until January. Then a few weeks of rigorous 
cold may be expected. Sometimes the winter is 
so mild as hardly to divide the fall from spring. 
But at other times a cold wave, or “blizzard,” 
leaps up as by magic and rushes over the country. 
These sudden changes in the atmosphere, because 


THE BLIZZARD. 


109 

the people on the prairie are not prepared for 
them, often do much harm to health and life. 
One may go out in the morning without an over- 
coat and freeze to death before night, with the 
virgin snow for his winding-sheet. 

This year, a few days before Christmas, the 
weather was so warm as to make a fire unnecess- 
ary. But one day at noon snow began to fall. By 
the time school was dismissed the wind was furi- 
ously driving the white flakes. But the children 
started homeward. In ten minutes the snow was 
falling in showers so thick that every object was 
obscured. A driver could not see his own team. 
The storm howled and shrieked. The winds 
whistled through the dry grass and thrust the snow 
into every nook and through every crevice. One 
could hear the feathery stuff strike the ground with 
a singing sound. In a very short time the whole 
landscape was covered with the fleecy whiteness 
and the sky wrapped in inky blackness. 

Olaf Hansen and his sister Christine had started 
homeward as usual together. They soon were 
turned around by the twirling gusts of snow. 
They could hardly keep their foothold on the 
slippery ground. At first the dim outlines of their 
home were visible and, to their joy, they could see 
some one starting to come to them. But soon the 


no 


THE SECRET OF THE CAI^ON. 


large flakes, falling in thick sheets, hid everything 
from view. The two children, almost worn out, 
still struggled on, because they knew not what else 
to do. At times they scarcely were able to breathe 
in the fierce storm. The furious gale would beat 
down their breath. At last Christine fell down ex- 
hausted. She could go no further. Olaf picked 
her up, supported her with one arm, and bravely 
pushed forward. Alas! the poor boy was only de- 
scribing a circle, and knew it not. Every step was 
taken in vain. He was actually going farther and 
farther from home. Finally he, too, was overcome 
by his exertions and sank on his knees in the snow. 

“Let me sleep,” dreamily said Christine, “I 
cannot any longer keep my eyes open. I’m — so — 
si — sleepy ! ” 

In a few minutes Olaf could not rouse her any 
more. He knew she was freezing to death. What 
should he do? If he goes for help, he can not 
again find her I If he stays, both shall perish ! Ah 
me! 

He wept, but the snow only mixed with his tears 
and formed icicles on his cheeks. Then he prayed, 
but the wild hurricane only howled the louder. 
He, too, was about to fall asleep, when suddenly, 
as if from a snowbank, Duke emerged from the 
darkness, but on finding the children unable to go 


THE BUZZARD. 


Ill 


with him, he ran away again. Must the last hope 
depart? Again he returned, sat down beside the 
silent forms, now lying under several feet of snow, 
and howled in long-drawn dirgelike bow-wows. 

This storm caught our pioneer missionary at the 
base of the Rocky Mountains. He took refuge in 
a deserted shanty. Here he managed to pass a 
fairly comfortable night. But next morning he 
could not see out. He was buried in snowdrifts. 
Besides, the weather had blown up so cold that 
a thermometer would have registered thirty-five 
degrees below zero. He had to look about for 
something to start a fire. But there was no wood 
except the lumber of which the shanty was com- 
posed. In order to keep warm there was no alter- 
native but to burn the very building that sheltered 
him. He began to tear off the boards on the sides 
first, and soon the smoke was curling up and out 
of the wooden chimney. Thus he spent the day 
and another night. 

The snow gradually ceased falling, but the 
frigid state of the atmosphere continued. By the 
second morning about half of the shanty was 
burnt. He, as well as his pony, was now without 
provisions. It therefore became a serious question 
whether he should starve or freeze to death. Un- 
less he could leave his present quarters, it would 


1 12 THE SECRET OF THE CARON. 

soon become his grave. So he forced open the 
door and looked out over the plain. Not a sign of 
life was anywhere visible. In some places the 
drifts were from ten to fifteen feet high. Yet 
there were also thin spaces. Committing himself 
to God, he stepped into the stirrup, deciding to let 
the brute take his own course. Progress was very 
slow and discouraging. After with great exertion 
proceeding a few miles, the faithful pony was per- 
fectly exhausted. But as the winds had there 
swept a place bare, he found some grass to nibble. 
While the beast was thus helping himself to the 
much-needed nourishment, Mr. Weissman thought 
he would scale a little rise in the prairie, or snow- 
bank, to get a better view of the surrounding 
country, for he had entirely lost the trail. He 
stumbled against some boards. The next step 
brought him on a roof, when — crash ! Down he 
fell into the room of a dugout. A man lying in a 
bed in one of the corners lifted up his head and 
rested it on his elbow, but said nothing. It is 
hard to say who was most surprised at this un- 
expected meeting. Although the other man’s 
silence annoyed Mr. Weissman and confused him 
more than his fall, he at once perceived that he 
was an invalid. So he managed to open acquain- 
tanceship by saying, “ Excuse me, sir, for disturb- 


THE BEIZZARD. 


ing you. You see I could not help it. I come 
peaceably.” 

The invalid did not for some moments either 
open his eyes or try to speak. He seemed to be 
waiting to get control of his breathing. At last 
he feebly began to make an effort to say some- 
thing. His pauses were many, and his tongue was 
so thick as to make his speech very indistinct. 
His voice also was so lov/ that the winds almost 
drowned it. 

“I — I — I am glad — to see any — human being,” 
said the sick man. “I had — given — up — all hope, 
— you can get in — here, I guess I can — get out — 
again. Where — do — you — come from !” 

“ From an old shanty up here which I just left to 
save myself from starvation and freezing. And 
how did you get here, my dear fellow?” asked the 
minister, gazing in pity at the pinched features and 
pale forehead matted over with curling hair. 

“I — I — live here — mine — mining. But I — was 
woun — wounded — in my thigh — with an — arrow. 
And — I am so sick. I — used — to be — a cowboy 
— too.” 

The poor fellow could hardly speak. Yet Mr. 
Weissman asked him, “ Perhaps then you are that 
hero who was shot while defending our stage 
from the Indians some months ago?” 

8 


1 14 the secret of the canon. 

“Yes,” the miner began to stammer, but his 
answer was interrupted by a crash — hh — h! The 
whole roof broke down and a horse tumbled be- 
tween the two men. The sick man sprang to his 
feet, exclaiming “What — does — this — mean?” 
And he fell down in a faint, and lay in the perfect 
semblance of death. 

The pony had lost sight of his master, and in 
seeking him had fallen into the same trap. 

There lay the frontiersman apparently dead. 
Mr. Weissman began to rub his wrists and to bathe 
his temples with snow. The invalid soon gave 
signs of life, but became delirious. 

“O mother, mother!” he exclaimed, “George — 
I can not find him — heaven.” 

We can not tell how mysterious words like these 
affected the minister. His greatest fear now was 
that his patient would die and never explain them. 
So he wrapped him up, put him on the pony, held 
him there, and pressed on through the rifts to find 
a refuge. He succeeded much sooner than he had 
expected. 

All that Olaf can recall of what further happened 
is that he saw a dim light moving about, and that 
he heard Duke barking as if far away. Miss 
Smiley had put a light in the window and then 
waited for her dog. He soon came, and they fol- 


THE BLIZZARD. 


II5 

lowed liim with a lantern to the place where the 
children were lying. One by one Mr. Bender 
carried them to the house. Here they soon were 
revived and nursed back to health, though the 
gentle Christine was not fully restored for many 
days. 

Duke was a hero. After these were in a place 
of safety he struggled over toward Kahns. Hans 
and his sister Theresa had been at school. They 
safely reached the stable, which was only about 
fifty yards from the house. Here they could 
plainly see the light in the window. They aimed 
for it, but lost their way in a gust of snow and 
groped about in the darkness. At last they stum- 
bled over a tub. Hans crawled under it. Theresa 
went a few feet further, and fell against the door of 
their home. Hans now screamed at the top of his 
voice. His parents heard him, but could not 
locate the tub. Here Duke found him. Thus all 
the scholars either reached home safely or were 
rescued from peril. Thea had not left the Bender 
ranch. Ruth had detained her there. 

Date in the afternoon of the next day Duke was 
heard up the valley, barking for dear life. Mr. 
Bender and Samuel started for the spot. There in 
the snow lay the silent form of Olaf ’s and Chris- 
tine’s uncle, who had just lately come from the old 


Il6 THE SECRET OF THE CAK^ON. 

country. He had perished in the vain attempt to 
find his nephew and niece. Poor fellow ! He was 
lying but a short distance from the house. Mr. 
Hansen fetched Dr. Porter, but he was beyond the 
reach of restoratives. Thus one more human 
being had died to save others from death. 

On his way back the doctor discovered smoke 
issuing from the “ hive. ” He found there the usual 
guest, and urged him to come with him and “share 
his crust.” The invitation was accepted. Ad- 
versity makes better friends than prosperity. 

The doctor had already noticed that this strange 
man used the best of language when they were 
alone, but always the slang of the frontier when 
there was any one else present. This puzzled him. 

Sitting on boxes before a roaring fire, the 
greater part of the night was spent by these two 
men in enjoyable conversation. It ended thus: 

“Say, scout, what shall I call you? Will you 
entrust me with your name? Or are you only ‘the 
scout ? ’ ” 

“Doctor, I would tell you anything my own 
mother might know. The boys call me Canon Jack. 
That is sufficient for the present. My tombstone 
need not contain more than that. That would do 
to start the Cedarville cemetery, wouldn’t it, doc- 
tor?” And he looked up with a quizzical smile. 


THE BUZZARD. 


II7 

“Well, Jack, if I am to address you familiarly, 
that is rather a melancholy idea. For you know 
that no western cemetery ever is started by a 
natural death.” 

“ In other words, you doctors, contrary to your 
eastern reputation, here mean to clear yourselves 
of the charge of filling our graveyards !” 

The doctor writhed under this good-humored 
thrust, not because he was insulted, but because 
he had no immediate reply at hand. 

“Excuse that quiz,” continued Canon Jack, 
“ and I will ask you a serious question. Do you 
think it best to know everything — I mean about 
your own circumstances ?’ ’ 

“No: I Ao not,” quickly and decisivel}^ an- 
swered Doctor Porter. “ I am glad I do not know 
what is going to happen to-morrow.” 

'“I rather referred to the past,” replied Canon 
Jack. 

“I hardly understand you,” said Doctor Porter, 
wdth the air of one who would encourage his 
friend to reveal more of what really was just then 
passing in his mind, “the past is thoroughly 
known, else we were not sure that it was past.” 

“Well,” began the other in an anxious manner, 
“suppose a child has in some way disappeared 
from its parents. They can not afterwards ever 


Il8 THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

receive any news concerning it. They wish they 
could have seen their boy laid in the grave, so 
they would be sure of where he is. The uncer- 
tainty of his fate almost kills them. But as long 
as they do not know any better, they continue to 
hope. Now supposing you had reason to believe 
that their son was dead, would you tell the 
parents ?’ ’ 

The doctor thought that, under such conditions, 
it was always best to know all that could be known, 
and so expressed himself. The scout absent-mind- 
edly nodded his head, gave a sigh of relief, said no 
more and soon fell asleep where he was sitting. 

Doctor Porter gazed into the weather-worn 
features of his strange companion, as if he would 
decipher their secrets, until he himself succumbed 
to drowsiness. So both soon were oblivious of 
each other and of the world. 

We are related to all men. The chains of 
human social interests bind all together as one. 
Each life somewhere crosses the path of another. 
The contact may be invisible ; it is none the less 
real. This relationship of the race can not fully 
be understood in this world. Who could guess 
what kind of a building will grow out of a certain 
heap of stones and lumber? But the architect 
knows, though the workman does not. Thus we 


THK BUZZARD. II9 

all are living and working in the dark. Eternity 
alone will reveal the finished temple. 

Like the mists of the night, that hang over the 
snow like a fairy’s dream, and that will not pass 
away until the sun rises, so the dark things of life 
mock our vision and wisdom, until the light of a 
better . world shines upon them. “Now we see 
through a glass darkly, but then face to face.” 

Then let Time spin on. Some day we shall see 
into what sort of a web it has spun us, and to 
whom the strands have bound us. Thus the 
mysterious processes of life go forward both when 
we sleep and when we wake. But, above all, God 
holds the plan in His own hands, assuring us that 
even affliction shall work out for us an eternal 
weight of glory, if we look at the things which 
are not seen, and that all things shall work to- 
gether for good to them that love Him. 


CHAPTER IX. 


TWIN-SISTERS OF CIVILIZATION. 

It is no wonder that thinkers in other lands 
have felt that America must be a failure. They 
see all kinds of people, with all kinds of notions 
and languages, all kinds of customs and training, 
coming to our shores. It indeed is a heteroge- 
neous mass, this foreign population that seeks a 
home here. There are few common ideas, habits 
or ties between these peoples. In nationality and 
character they are so different as to make a basis of 
union among them apparently hopeless. To bring 
them together and create a compact nation of them 
seems, at a distance, like an effort to mix oil and 
water. Chinese, Bohemians, French, English, 
Irish, Scandinavians, Germans, Russians — how can 
this hodge-podge ever become one people ? 

In America the children do not need to become 
exactly what their sires were. We are not com- 
pelled to learn the same trade that our parents fol- 
lowed, or to think the same thoughts that were the 
springs of their life. If we should, our country 

(I20) 


TV/IN-SISTERS OF CIVILIZATION. 


I2I 


soon would go to pieces. Just at this point the 
common, or public school, is doing its grandest 
work. It is the nursery of patriotism. It affords 
the unifying process by which the many are made 
one — e pluribus unum. Here all the children of 
the various nationalities are taught those common 
ideas, that common language, and those mutual 
sympathies and love of country, which form the 
most solid basis of the strongest national unity on 
earth. The real America is cradled, on one side, 
by our school teachers, and, on the other, by the 
heralds of religion. For not education alone, but 
much more “righteousness exalteth a nation.” 

The Church has even a greater mission to per- 
form for the institutions of liberty than the school. 
Religion takes hold of the affections, and the af- 
fections have deeper roots in human nature than 
the intellect. The heart must be cleansed, and 
even the mind sanctified, by the redeeming power 
of Christianity, if the foundations of self-govern- 
ment are to be enduring. 

A few months after the great blizzard, Mr. 
Weissman visited Miss Smiley’s school. He was 
surprised at the progress of her pupils. The for- 
eign children could read English very nicely. 
But in some things they were becoming American- 
ized too fast. At first when the minister called on 


122 


THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 


them, they all rose and stood until he had taken 
his seat. Whenever they met him on the street, 
they would take off their hats and say, “Guten 
Morgen,” or “Gut Aften.” They were polite, as 
all children should be. 

Now they do not take off their hats, but salute 
everybody with the customary “Hello!” This 
change is not good. Thea Opsal has for some 
time been playing the organ in school. She can 
still read her native Norwegian, though she is fast 
forgetting it. None of these foreign children two 
years ago could read or speak a word of English. 
Now none of them, except when their parents 
require it, speak any other tongue. Olaf Hansen 
can draw well. He aptly illustrates the Sunday- 
school lessons on the black-board. 

But soon this school must assemble for the last 
time. The city is absorbing the suburban Cedar- 
ville, which now is proudly called Canon City, the 
“Queen of the Plains.” The wind-mill has 
served a good purpose, but is now too small to 
accommodate the rising generation of the day. 

Mr. Weissman made a speech which the pupils 
greatly enjoyed. He tried to show them how 
much they knew that others did not know, by tell- 
ing them of that school director in an eastern state 
who thought that the earth’s axis revolved in two 


TWIN-SISTERS OF CIVILIZATION. 1 23 

hubs, called the north and south stars, much like 
that of a wagon-wheel. Then he asked them 
whether they knew the earth was round, and that 
they slept on the under part of it at night. “ Yes,’’ 
rang out Hans Kahn, “ for I tumbles out of my 
bed sometimes.” When the rest laughed, he 
would not look up, but kept spelling his name on 
his slate, until the minister told a story about a 
goat. Then he forgot and looked up again. Now 
Hans owned a goat called Fritz, that liked nobody 
but him. One day, during which all the family 
had been away, a book-agent had come to Kahn’s. 
What was their surprise on returning to see him 
perched up on the stable, where he declared he 
had been the last two long honrs. He was held a 
prisoner by that mischief of a Fritz. While the 
agent was quiet, Fritz would walk away and 
nibble some grass ; but as soon as the poor agent 
would set a foot upon terra firma^ “mah, mah,” 
Fritz would come on. When Hans came there, 
the angry man, who could find neither stick nor 
stone on the prairie, just at the very moment in his 
life when he wanted one worst, asked him if that 
was his good-for-nothing brute. 

“ No : that is my good Fritz,” said Hans. 

“Well, here’s a quarter, boy ; take him away.” 

And Hans walked off with Fritz and the money. 


124 SECRET OE THE CANON. 

The agent got dov/n and walked ofi, not however 
without looking back now and then. All this 
was brought back to the mind of Hans by the 
minister’s story. Then Miss Smiley wanted to 
show how well her pupils could speak. So she 
called on a few. Hans knew she would call for 
his funny piece. So he buried his face in his 
arms. “Now, Hans, we will hear your piece.” 
Hans stepped out briskly, his arms swinging 
nervously the while. When he made his bow he 
lifted up one foot. He really was as graceful as a 
lame ostrich. Everybody laughed. Hans, think- 
ing it was on account of his bow, waited a moment 
for them to stop, but they roared out all the worse. 
What was the matter? I will tell you. He had 
been playing with a sooty stove-pipe and got his 
coat all black. Then he had buried his face in it, 
and he looked like a little African. The audience 
was cheated out of that speech. Poor Hans cried 
until he looked into a glass. Then he smiled a 
little himself. 

Mr. Weissman saw clearly that he must organ- 
ize the Eutherans or see them scatter. This, he 
informed them, he would do next Sabbath. On 
this very account some absented themselves from 
the services. Several young American Eutherans, 
who were clerks in the city, said they would not 


TWIN* SISTERS OF CIVIUZATION. 1 25 

go to a cliurcli composed of none but Swedes. So 
the one sang in the Methodist choir and the other 
in the Presbyterian. Several ladies of society; who 
had been members in the East, went where the 
richer people were found. A man who was a 
deacon in Ohio would not become a charter mem- 
ber in a new Eutheran church on the plains. He 
said we could not compete with the rest who had 
already put up buildings. As already intimated, 
a few of the Swedes had joined elsewhere. But 
all the other foreigners determined to abide in the 
mother-church. These, with a half dozen Am- 
ericans, signed their names to a constitution and 
became the first Evangelical Eutheran church of 
Canon City — in all twenty-two. They had lots, 
indeed, but could not afford to build a church. 
The other denominations had collected most of 
their money from the citizens, who gave liberally. 
But coming last, the Eutherans could not expect 
much from that source. Besides, one of the other 
churches had been built as a non-denominational 
one, but was dedicated in the interests of a sect 
whose name was painted above the door. This 
deception had disgusted many. Mr. Weissman then 
said he would apply to the East for funds. A sub- 
scription was taken up to see how much could be 
raised to secure a pastor. In this way three him- 


126 


THK SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 


died dollars were provided. Very few would live 
on that, but Mr. Weissman said he would try to 
do so, if he could leave the other preaching points. 
For the present he must keep on traveling as a 
missionary, though he was getting old for such 
work. He therefore wrote to the Home Board for 
a young man, either to take his place or to be 
pastor at Canon City. Having made these ar- 
rangements, he left for other parts of his field on 
Monday. Some of the Lutherans were doubtful, 
some hopeful, a few determined to stand by the 
new organization. 

From a human standpoint the outlook was dis- 
couraging indeed. Among the Lutherans there 
was as yet no wealth. Most of them were poor. 
As yet the foreigners among them had no social 
standing with the Anglo-Saxon Americans. Some 
of their customs, especially that of beer-drinking, 
offended many. Imitating in this respect the first 
American settlers, they had lost the good habit of 
church-going. In fact this carelessness was in- 
creased by the frequent appearance of ministerial 
humbugs who, by turns, took to preaching and 
gambling. The other denominations were ag- 
gressive, and, naturally enough, and also with un- 
questionable sincerity, secured the children of 
these foreigners, but the parents could not as a rule 
feel at home in these churches. 


TWIN-SISTERS OF CIVILIZATION. 


127 


But the internal factions among them were the 
worst. There were no less than three social sets 
among the Germans. Scandinavians avoided all 
three. Besides, the Danes and Norwegians formed 
one caste, and the Swedes another. The Luth- 
eran household seemed to be divided against itself 

But, again, in the old country all had grand 
churches. Here a hall above a saloon and billiard 
room was all that at present could be rented. 
It was humiliating to begin so low. There all 
the rich and great, even royalty, were their fel- 
low-members. Here in Canon City everybody that 
was of any consequence in the public esteem either 
was connected with the other denominations or 
had a decided predilection for them. 

Certainly all the odds seemed to be against the 
Lutherans. Yet being one in name, and one in 
doctrine, there was a common bond between them. 
This invisible golden chain of a common faith 
really was the only force that kept them together, 
but it was a strong one. What they had so thor- 
oughly imbibed from their childhood could not 
nov/ so easily be parted with. 

We trust it is not necessary to say that none of 
these things are mentioned for the purpose of cast- 
ing any reflection on any of the various Christian 
churches that engaged in the noble work of con- 


128 


THE SECRET OK THE CANON. 


quering the great West for Christ. We only wish 
to emphasize the peculiar difficulties that beset the 
Church of L/Uther in this good enterprise. Its 
duty was clear, but its task was onerous. It 
was an exotic that could not very easily be trans- 
planted. Or, to change the figure, it was like a 
lone, helpless pelican in the barren wilderness. 

A few hours after the pioneer missionary had 
left, the Bender family was startled while at dinner 
by the appearance of an Indian squaw and her two 
boys. She did not come to the door, but pressed 
her nose flat against one of the windows and gazed 
in without saying a word. The oldest boy held a 
pony. The papoose or baby was wrapped in a 
blanket and tied on her back, where he was rolling 
his black eyes, as if wishing to see what was going 
on. The squaw had on leathern moccasins orna- 
mented with beads. A piece of calico with a yoke 
cut in one end, to let her head through, and sewed 
shut on both sides, leaving arm-holes, and a girdle 
at the waist, with a blanket, composed all her 
wardrobe. She looked fierce and ugly, though 
capable of kindness. The boy had on moccasins 
and leathern leggings, and a little deer-skin jacket, 
over which was swung a quiver of arrows. 

“No Traid, white man,’’ said the squaw coming 
to the door. She had seen the terror of Ruth and 
Martin. “Me no hurt, me lone,” she continued. 


TWIN-SISTERS OF CIVILIZATION. 1 29 

“Will you have some dinner?” kindly asked 
Mrs. Bender, glad to see a live Indian of her own 
sex. 

“Yes, me hungry,” said she. 

They gave her a place at the table and filled her 
plate. She put the knife and fork aside and ate 
with her fingers. Now a full view of her baby 
could be had. He looked cutely out of his black 
eyes, but would neither smile nor cry. 

“May I take your baby?” said Mrs. Bender, 
stroking its forehead and jet-black hair. 

“You bet, you have him,” replied the squaw. 
The children all came around their mother and 
stroked the little fellow’s hands, cheeks and stiff 
hair. The papoose seemed to enjoy such caresses, 
yet kept as quiet as a doll. 

“Where did you come from?” inquired Mrs. 
Bender kindly and interestedly. 

“From setting sun,” she replied, and pointed to 
the West. 

“What tribe do you belong to?” 

“Sioux.” 

‘ ‘ Why did you come to town ?’ ’ 

“Man sent me tobac,” and her eyes flashed as 
she added, “man he hate me, and like white 
squaw.” Then she reached into her bosom and 
produced a large knife. Seeing that the folks 

9 


130 THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

were frightened, she shook her head, saying, while 
she held up two of her fingers, “ Two white squaw 
by Indians. Me no kill you. Me hunt Snide 
squaw. 

By degrees they understood that her tribe held 
two white women captive, and that her husband 
treated them better than herself. This probably 
was the cause of her burning jealousy. “ Me kill 
’m,’’ she exclaimed as she brandished her knife. 
But she put it back, saying, “ Me no hurt you, me 
no hurt you. Me hurt Snide, him squaw.” 

For several days Ollie had been feeling badly. 
He was now lying on a lounge and could not eat. 
The squaw observed his pale face closely. After 
she and her boy had eaten a hearty meal, she 
looked at him and said, “You eat, night time,” 
meaning he would eat his supper. Then she 
reached into her beaded pouch and took out some 
herbs, made signs for a tin, and began to boil 
water. 

Meanwhile the Indian boy was showing the 
other children how he could stand on the pony’s 
back and hang to its sides when it was running at 
full speed. Next he took his bow and hit pennies 
that were thrown into the air, with arrows. Then 
he took little Martin and rode around the house. 
Ollie, under the squaw’s treatment, soon came out 


TWIN-SISTERS OF CIVILIZATION. 131 

feeling better. Though he did not ride, he could 
eat supper. Mrs. Tindborg’s second baby had 
been crying day and night for the last week. To- 
day she brought it to town for treatment. But the 
squaw took it in hand, and in an hour it was fast 
asleep. She simply rode out of sight with it on 
her pinto pony and after an hour came back. 

But toward evening she went down town and 
saw Captain Holman, v/ho met her as an old 
acquaintance. To him she imparted some secrets. 
Then she walked into Mr. Snide’s store to get her 
“tobac.” As soon as she saw the “mayor,” she 
rushed upon him with her drawn knife, screaming 
with rage. That gentleman leaped through the 
nearest win do v/. A policeman took her into the 
lock-up. Kverybody wondered at her strange 
freak. But, as she was talkative, the facts soon 
came out. We have met her on the plains before, 
where, as we learned during Mr. Weissman’s jour- 
ney, no white woman was to be found near. 

He had given ten ponies for an Indian wife, 
whom he cast off when he had no more use for 
her. But her revenge never slept. This was the 
first time she had met the man whom she regarded 
as a base wretch. When the authorities found out 
the cause of her assault, they gave her ten min- 
utes to leave the city. It would never do to have 


132 THE SECRET OF THE CAf?ON. 

the honorable Mayor of Canon City come to dis- 
grace. 

Some, especially former “squaw men,’’ laughed 
at the matter. Mrs. Snide pretended to treat the 
incident lightly, as though it had been but the 
freak of a drunken Indian woman, far beneath a 
white lady’s notice. Only a few seemed shocked. 
But society did not shut a door on the nabob of 
the place. And for some strange reason this 
tragedy never found its way into print in any 
newspaper of the time ! 

But human nature, however low in the scale of 
intelligence, always resents wrong against itself. 
Consequently, where law afforded no protection or 
redress, this child of nature but undertook to apply 
such barbaric justice as her own hands were cap- 
able of. In the form of her intention she did not 
succeed : in fact, her effort fastened a stigma upon 
the name of a man who could never remove it, and 
who thus had to suffer for his crime against a hu- 
man heart. 


CHAPTER X. 

THE GLORIOUS FOURTH. 

In the materialistic and busy West it was difficult 
to introduce a holiday. People felt as though they 
had no time for such sentimentalism. During the 
early days, even Sunday was not observed as a day 
of rest. Eater all business places were open during 
the forenoon, and only the afternoon was spent 
as a half-holiday. But even then many working- 
men would take advantage of that time to fix up 
something at their own homes, while clerks would 
cast up their ledgers. Only those who cared for 
society and leisure would take the recreation of 
witnessing the dress-parade of the soldiers at the 
military post, at Fort McPherson, which was then 
a part of Canon City. On the ranches Sunday 
practically was expunged from the calendar. 

But the Fourth of July, celebrating the inde- 
pendence of our country^, was the first legal, secu- 
lar, or religious holiday that appealed to the 
imagination of this frontier town. 

Mayor Snide was especially enthusiastic to have 

(133) 


134 "THE SECRET OF THE CANON. 

the day well observed. It would help to make 
business, and by business he meant the patronage 
of his saloon. But he meant to be very public- 
spirited. So he planned a generous program for 
the day. There were horse races, shooting 
matches, a dancing platform in the open air, a 
greased pig to catch, a civic and military parade, 
and all ending with a general gathering at the 
rustic opera house, where all the local orators 
should have the privilege of venting their boiling 
patriotism in popular harangues. Of course, there 
was an abundance of music and pyrotechnics, 
especially in the form of crackers, to make the 
occasion inspiring. There must be plenty of noise. 

All the Benders witnessed this celebration. 
They remained to hear the speeches, which came 
last and rather late in the afternoon. Mr. Kuhl, 
now a lawyer rising in influence, was master of 
ceremonies. He made the first address and then 
introduced the other speakers, who happened to be 
all the other lawyers and ministers of the place. 
It was a characteristic of the West to see the Cath- 
olic priest on the same rostrum with the Protestant 
clergy. After all these had spoken of the glories 
of freedom, the audience was so enthusiastic that 
several merchants were called out to make the 
American eagle scream. All this was so educa- 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH. 1 35 

tional to the foreign-born population, that they 
became proud of their adopted country. 

It was late when these exercises came to an end. 
But as two traveling students, who were replenish- 
ing their exchequers during vacation, had adver- 
tised a magic-lantern exhibition of Paradise I^ost 
for the evening, the Benders arranged to see it 
also. Their team was tied to a post near the hall 
in which the entertainment was to take place. As 
they were leaving the wagon they saw two well- 
dressed young men running toward the building, 
while behind them were a few drunken cow-boys 
flourishing revolvers and crying, “ Shoot them 
hats ! Shoot them hats ! ” Not wishing to have a 
worse scene, the poor students placed their silk 
hats on two posts as targets for the cow-boys, and 
completed their summer tour in straws. But their 
exhibition was a success. They were just thank- 
ing the people for their patronage, when the bugle 
at the Fort sounded the call to arms. The sol- 
diers who happened to be in the hall rushed out 
pell-mell, and caused a panic. People crushed 
and fell over each other without regard to conse- 
quences. The one absorbing desire of each one 
was to get out of the building alive, without caring 
whether any one else did so.. When Mr. Bender 
reached the street, he saw that his own team 


136 THE SECRET OF THE CANON. 

was being driven away by a stranger, but in the 
confusion he could not catch up to it. He waited 
awhile, thinking the man would discover his mis- 
take and bring the horses back. He also supposed 
it might have been a neighbor, who wished 
to see quickly what was the matter at the Fort. 
He could not make up his mind that his horses 
were stolen until he discovered that the hitching- 
strap had been cut off ; after that there could be 
no doubt on the subject. They were taken not to 
be returned. The news soon spread, and the 
sheriff soon got the trail, but darkness prevented 
him from following it. 

All now went to the Fort to learn the cause of 
the alarm. A herd of cavalry horses had been 
grazing between the barracks and the river. Some 
Indians had made a raid upon them and caused a 
stampede toward the ravine. In a few minutes a 
company of cavalry was in pursuit. The Indians 
divided into two squads, one going on the Island, 
the other turning southward toward the Cotton- 
wood Canon. The wise animals went forward a 
few miles, then turned east, thus describing a circle 
and soon came flying into the very pasture which 
they had left only a short time before. The 
soldiers who had gone after them lost all trace of 
both horses and Indians. Some lost themselves in 


THE GEORIOUS FOURTH. 137 

the sand-hills and did not get back before morn- 
ing. Meanwhile another company was engaged 
with the Indians in the underbrush of the Island, 
shooting at random only to wound some of their 
own comrades. Here the red-skins escaped with 
their booty. These wily sons of the plains had 
taken advantage of the sleepy self-security of the 
Fort and the carousals of the glorious Fourth. In 
the back yard of every saloon many a patriotic 
citizen and loyal soldier was lying in the helpless- 
ness of debauchery. Rum, as usual, almost cap- 
tured the city on that day. Notwithstanding this 
brush with the natives, the hilarity and boisterous 
merrymaking went on till after midnight. Even 
at day-light some gamblers were still found at 
Snide’s tables. 

Doctor Porter and Canon Jack were together 
when the incident of the evening took place. 
From the look-out on the windmill they viewed 
the stampede down the canon and the pursuing 
enemy. As a result a few Pawnees would not 
drive off any more government horses. But later 
two horsemen rode at high speed in the opposite 
direction. The scout watched them until he was 
sure where they were going. Then he went down 
to the Fort to laugh at the soldiers for allowing the 
very skulking band of whose contemplated trick 


138 THE SECRET OE THE CAf^ON. 

he had given them ample warning, to steal horses 
from under their noses. Here he for the first time 
learned of the disappearance of Mr. Bender’s 
horses. When our friends came home, to their 
surprise they found the wagon there, but Tom and 
and Tib were gone. As a matter of course every- 
body thought the Indians had them. 

Next morning Captain Holman called to offer 
any possible assistance to recover the nags. Even 
Mayor Snide came to say that “ he had beared it,” 
and to “guess that them sneakin’ Pawnees had 
done this job;” earnestly declaring that “twant 
no use talkin’, a dead Injun was the only good 
un.” 

While Doctor Porter and Mr. Bender were dis- 
cussing the theory of the theft. Canon Jack rode 
up to say that he had been sent on a mission into 
the unoccupied territory westward, which would 
take him away quite a while. 

“ Good luck to you,” said the doctor, “ I’ll be 
lonely without you.” 

“Thank ye. Good bye. If you never see 
Canon Jack agin, be sartin he died game, an’ in 
his boots.” And waving his hat he galloped 
away. 

The entire country was now in a state of agita- 
tion. Wagon-trains, even mail-coaches, ceased to 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH. 


139 


move. It was on this account that Canon Jack, 
after riding three days, met the Pony Express of 
those raw times. 

He did not follow the regular route. That 
would have been too dangerous. For the most 
part he kept on the hills, and made great detours 
to avoid a valley or ravine, where the enemy 
might be lurking. Thus traveling he on the third 
day descried another single horseman coming 
toward him some distance away. Not knowing 
whether he was a friend or foe, he tied his own 
horse in a little washout and, sticking his hat full 
of grass-tufts, he crawled on his hands and feet to 
watch the rider. He was coming at a pretty brisk 
pace. Soon the field-glass revealed the general 
contour of the man. It was the Pony Express. 
That is, it was a man with a steed caparisoned like 
his own, and armed and dressed like himself, only 
that he was no scout, but a United States mail 
carrier. It was one of those brave men who took 
their lives in their hands to carry letters through 
an infested district from town to town, or fort to 
fort, or between armies in the field. 

Seeing now who it was, Canon Jack sprang 
upon his feet. He did so at his peril. The 
expressman was riding with carbine in hand, and 
like a flash, drew his piece on this sudden appari- 


140 THE SECRET OF THE CANON. 

tioii on the prairie. But he just as quickly laid it 
down again when he recognized his white brother. 
Alighting he approached the scout, exclaiming, 
“ Wal, Canon Jack, is this you? Wal, to be sure. 
ICs a long day since I seed ye. Come, let’s shake.” 
And they did shake hands heartily enough. 

“ Why, Jim, what are you bound for? Are you 
known yet as Cowboy Jim? Give an account of 
yourself, old fellow.” 

“Wal, I’ve got Uncle Sam’s mail in them 
pouches an’ some ’spatches fer the new comman- 
dant at McPherson. But whar’s yer ’orse. Jack? 
Ye dawnt mean ter say ye are afoot?” 

“Oh, no,” replied Jack, “my horse is in the 
hollow there. Come, let’s put up for the night 
down there and hold a confab again, as we 
used to.” 

To this the other only too readily agreed. They 
tethered their horses where they could find grass. 
They were encamped in a shallow basin where a 
pool of rain-water stood. They carried enough in 
their canteens for their own supply, but their 
horses were glad to drink out of a pond. Cowboy 
Jim soon began to gather material to start a fire, 
for the purpose of boiling some coffee. Canon 
Jack cautioned him against such a daring act, 
where they might at any moment be surrounded 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH. 


141 

by a hundred savages, who w^ould be attracted by 
the smoke. But Jim only declared that “with 
sich an Ingun fighter as Canon Jack he would not 
flinch before a thousand red devils.” 

Though he was somewhat apprehensive of the 
possible results, the scout did not offer any further 
protest. After Jim had lighted his pile of grass 
and “buffalo chips,” both sat on their blankets 
and watched the smoke, which started so black 
and then became a white fume in the air. If the 
scout had been entirely alone he would have felt 
more secure, but the apparent recklessness of his 
comrade sharply kept his own cautiousness awake. 
The well-known powder of fire to set one musing 
soon had its effect upon Jim, and he became talk- 
ative. 

“ Say, Jack, d’ye believe thar be a hereafter?” 

“ Yes, Jim, there must be such a thing, or there 
would be no God. What makes you ask me about 
such things? I don’t know much about religion,” 
replied the scout, not a little amused by his 
friend’s ingenuousness. 

“Wal, I’m sort o’ believin’ myself thet thar 
must be somebody above us,” and Jim’s eyes fol- 
lowed the fleecy curls of smoke as high as they 
ascended, and where they blended with the atmos- 
phere. “I’m tryin’ to be better. Jack. I’ve been 


142 the secret of the CAf^ON. 

a bad egg most of my life — no good, to be sure. I 
never had no kind o’ use fer sky-pilots, but one 
came to our camp in the gulch last winter, who 
nearly convarted me. ’ ’ 

“Sky-pilot?” asked the scout inquiringly, for 
he had never before heard the word. 

“Yell, a preacher. Holy Joe, the boys called 
him; a man what was a man — none o’ your ex- 
hortin’ fellers, what takes a growler on the sly, 
but a square inside-outsider, who makes you dream 
of your mother and wish you was good. He left 
us then, an I took a collect fer’im. I was in only 
one mean bizz sence. Then I got ashamed of my- 
self, I did, when I robbed Holy Joe. So I ’solved 
partners with the gang, an now I make an honest 
livin’.” 

“I am very glad to hear it,” interjected the 
scout, but he could add no more. Cowboy Jim 
was so tightly wound up that he had to have a 
chance to run down. 

“Yes, an’ this morning I met one o’ my pards, 
an’ he had just played a tarnel trick. He sold a 
pair o’ spinkern iron-greys to the next ranch, an’ 
I knowed he stole ’em. An’ he confessed it.” 

“Who was he?” quickly, yet indifferently, in- 
quired the scout. 

“Sam Sloane, an’ he said he was workin’ fer 
Snide’s saloon, in Canon City.” 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH. 


143 


‘‘ Did you say that you left them at the next 
ranch ? ” 

“Yeh, but I’m no partners with him any more. 
I’ll swear by Holy Joe Weissman. I’ve no eddica- 
tion, but I do the best I kin.” These words were 
spoken with energetic earnestness. 

“Weissman, did you say? I know him. He 
seems to be a fine old gentleman. By the way, do 
you know John or George Weissman, the pastor’s 
sons? ” 

“ You bet, I kin tell you — 

“Hist!” The scout gave this alarm, and Jim 
did not finish his sentence, but followed the gaze 
of his comrade toward a hummock about five hun- 
dred yards off, on the summit of which a lone 
Indian was sitting, like a statue, on horseback. 
He did not look in the direction of th^ "frontiers- 
men, but pretended not to be aware of. their 
presence. This feint they well understood. Hence 
they kept on stirring the fire and putting new fuel 
on it, and actually drinking hot coffee, as though 
that cunning foe were made of stone. However, 
they were anything but indifferent. In low tones 
the scout told Jim that while he would on some 
pretense reconnoiter the prairie from the edge of 
the basin, he should get their horses and accoutre- 
ments in readiness. So, without his gun, he 


144 SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

walked to a little eminence, ostensibly for the 
purpose of gathering more fuel, but in reality to 
spy out the situation. He soon discovered that 
they were surrounded by at least a dozen warriors, 
who were scattered, but who were just waiting for 
a signal from the hummock to concentrate their 
forces. All the redskins wanted to know was in 
what direction the travelers would go, and they 
were ready to form an ambush to kill or capture 
them. Perhaps they would have made the attack 
over the basin, but they well enough knew that 
half of their number would be killed, and in the 
melee the white men’s horses would escape. Now 
that they had been discovered by the scout, all 
their plans, whatever they may have been, were 
frustrated. Jack and Jim were both now aware 
that something desperate must forthwith be done. 
Hence they gathered their traps and made as 
though they were resuming their journey, sprang 
into their saddles, and moved directly toward the 
hummock and the apparent statue on it. But that 
figure soon became possessed of life and stirred the 
least. This was the signal for the two whites to 
give him chase. As a ruse he rode away at full 
speed. They followed him and were fast gaining 
on him, but, as their intention was, they stopped 
at the hummock and fired. Their aim was deadly. 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH. 


145 


He fell to the ground. His pinto pony scampered 
away. But by this time the rest of the band were 
closing about them. The scout and Jim quickly 
made their trained horses lie down flat. But not 
too quickly, for the yelling savages now began to 
ride around the hummock in narrowing circles and 
to discharge arrows, one of which struck the hous- 
ings of Jim’s saddle. Jack now told his comrade 
to draw a bead on the foremost brave, while he 
would pick off the next one. In a moment those 
two rolled on the prairie. This was too much 
for the remnant. They withdrew to a safe dis- 
tance, but disposed of each other in such a manner 
that Canon Jack and Cowboy Jim were surrounded 
prisoners. They were now fully aware that the 
barbarians meant to starve them out by means of 
a protracted siege. The only chance to escape 
that remained was by stratagem at night. Unless 
they could get out of the enemy’s clutches under 
cover of darkness, they were doomed. Conse- 
quently the question was, “Shall it be death or 
freedom?” For one thing, these two men were 
not afraid of the former. Yet they became more 
serious as the sun went down. That night the 
moon shone until eleven o’clock. Up to that hour 
nothing about them stirred. All about them was 
quiet as the grave. But they well knew the vigi- 
10 


146 THE SECRET OF THE CANTON. 

lance of the foe. Hence they remained at their 
watch. Dnring this time of suspense Canon Jack 
heard Cowboy Jim muttering some child-prayers 
which he» no doubt, had learned from his mother. 
The scout himself thought it was a fit occasion for 
prayer, and yielded to it. But as soon as the land- 
scape was shrouded in darkness, the moment for 
action had arrived. Just as silently as possible the 
men rode half the distance which they supposed 
lay between them and the Indian pickets. Then, 
letting go the reins and spurring their steeds, they 
rushed forward like lightning. They soon ran 
down the first guard, at whom they both fired, but 
missed. They flew past him, but he turned and 
fired at them and hit Canon Jack’s horse in the 
front leg. This caused the animal to fall and 
throw his rider off. But he immediately leaped to 
his hoofs again and regained his place in the race. 
This happened so quickly and in such darkness, 
that Jim did not discover that his comrade was 
missing. On he rode like fury, and the savages 
after him. When they reached the place where 
the scout was lying, they began firing after Jim. 
This gave the scout an opportunity to fire at them 
from the rear. He killed one, and another dis- 
covering him and returning to dispatch him, met 
the same fate. The rest followed the Pony Ex- 


THK GLORIOUS FOURTH. 147 

press, which seemed to be an arsenal belching 
forth fire and bullets. 

As a consequence, several Indian ponies left 
their bleaching bones on the prairie, and a few 
more of their riders bit the dust. 

So diminished was their number and so furiously 
did Jim ride, that the Indians gave up the chase. 

By this time the doughty expressman had dis- 
covered that his comrade was missing. Therefore 
he began to wheel about in a wide semi-circle, 
determined to reach the hummock again. The 
scout’s horse, though evidently suffering from the 
loss of blood and fatigue, still continued following 
him. He had no doubt that if Jack was alive yet, 
he would find him. But not being able in the 
darkness to discern friend from foe, he stopped at 
some trees, evidently at the head of a canon, to 
rest for the night, in order that both he and his 
pony might be fresh next morning. 

When daylight came he saw another man 
cautiously feeling his way along the edge of the 
same canon. It was Canon Jack. One can only 
imagine the happiness of that meeting. The 
wound of his horse was not serious. The scout 
committed a few messages to Jim to carry to 
Canon City. Bidding each other good-bye, each of 
these heroes went his own way. 


CHAPTER XL 


THE BOOM. 

A TONE tree near a saloon could not long give 
its name to an ambitious town. Hence Cedarville 
became Canon City. Its present population did 
not indeed measure up to that high title, but its 
future growth and development were meant to do 
so. An almost insane passion to advertise and 
glorify the place now took possession of its 
citizens. An economic frenzy became the rage of 
all minds. Property was driven up to ten times 
its real value. New additions were laid out in 
plats, amid enthusiastic huzzas and the music of 
brass bands. Day and night, week-days and Sun- 
days, the sound of hammer and saw was heard. 
Brick, stone, lumber and mortar obstructed almost 
every street. Some business places were rushed 
up like mushrooms, almost in twenty-four hours 
from the time of beginning. Every one was in 
haste to be rich. The new railroad was pushed on 
as rapidly as an army on the march could accom- 
pany it. A great fete celebrated its terminus at 
(148) 


THE BOOM. 


149 


Canon City. Beer and bad whiskey were more 
plentiful than water, and freely flowed down the 
throats of their devotees. Every train brought a 
fresh crowd of immigrants. The day of the 
prairie schooner was gone. Wages ran up to 
enormous prices. All provisions and rents fol- 
lowed suit. Everything was now under an intense 
pressure. For want of houses, many new-comers 
were obliged to live in tents, and even under the 
open sky. To but few did the thought occur that 
this state of things could not last. Nobody seemed 
to imagine that the unnatural boom might pos- 
sibly become a boomerang which, in its reaction, 
might bring more ruin than prosperity. But luck 
was the god of the hour, and lottery and gambling 
composed the liturgy by which his zealots served 
him. This world must be gained, although the 
other may be lost, was the mad creed of nineteenth 
century materialism. 

Together with other things, all kinds of orga- 
nizations, such as secret societies, became flourish- 
ing, and at first their success was beyond that of 
the churches. Here the free-thinkers and skeptics 
of all classes found a new paradise. They soon 
had their hall and dedicated it as the Temple of 
Reason. They would have succeeded very well 
if they could have agreed more perfectly among 


150 THE SECRET OF THE CA^JON. 

themselves. On this they had not counted. They 
had imagined that, in their common antagonism to 
evangelical orthodoxy, they had a sufficient bond 
of union. With all other men, they had yet to 
learn that no great work ever can be founded upon 
negations. Only what is positive can be enduring. 
Thus while some of the lights in this temple of 
Antichrist upheld moral law, others abrogated it; 
while most believed in marriage as a divine insti- 
tution, some looked upon it only as a civil con- 
tract, and some denied it had any sanction except 
that of whimsical affinity ; while some avowed be- 
lief in a God, others professed allegiance to no 
deity except matter and force, while a few were 
the heralds of a rising agnosticism. Under these 
circumstances the day of collision was not long in 
coming. Under the impulse of young manhood 
and in the interests of science. Dr. Porter and Mr. 
Kuhl joined this undoubtedly intelligent society. 
A lecturer on geology was engaged to deliver a 
discourse before this lyceum of learning. The 
committee did not know, and would not have 
cared if it had, that the profound scholar also was 
a lyUtheran minister. But many of the illuminati 
found fault with him for teaching a theistic theory 
of the universe. Several afterwards attacked his 
position. Mr. Kuhl defended him. This brought 


THE BOOM. 


I51 

three or four atheistic ranters to their feet. 'They 
were humorously answered by Dr. Porter. The 
debate was closed by a bright but bitter-spirited 
New England lady, who sarcastically remarked, 
“ Friends, you are acting too much like Christians 
of different denominations. Eet us not repeat 
here the battles of the churches.” 

Dr. Porter and Mr. Kuhl soon discovered that 
happy discipleship in the synagogue of free 
thought was dependent on having no opinions 
of your own. Hence they left it. 

But the churches also took advantage of the 
economic flood to boom their interests. The great 
denominations devoted large sums to the building 
of churches and to the support of pastors in 
Canon City. The women, as a rule, did most of the 
work. The men, while liberal with their money 
for such benevolent and spiritual objects, did not 
want to put their hands to the plow. At first all 
the various denominations worshiped together in 
a log school-house. Here a flourishing union 
Sunday-school, whose superintendent was a mild- 
mannered, gifted Unitarian lady-minister, was 
held. Dines of separation were not visible. The 
day of church-union seemed to have dawned. The 
millennium must be near, thought some. But the 
education and habits of years could not be so 


152 THE SECRET OF THE CARON. 

easily obliterated. The beautiful dream of one 
happy denominational family was not to be 
realized in Canon City. One after another, the 
Catholics, Presbyterians, Methodists, Episcopalians, 
Baptists and Unitarians each had their own places 
of worship, and the log school-house was deserted 
by all. Even the master with his boys and girls 
soon left it to go to a more modern and imposing 
building. To-day it is only a relic of those early 
days. 

It really seems singular that, though a Lutheran 
minister was the first to be on the ground, and 
that denomination had most adherents, it should 
have been the last to organize, and should have no 
church building till all others had an existence of 
a dozen years. For this there were several special 
reasons. First of all, the Lutherans spoke six 
languages. This of itself was a great barrier to 
that unity which is necessary to a healthy congre- 
gational life. Then most of them were raised in 
countries where the laity had little part in the 
activities of the church. Again, they were poor. 
The Lutherans in the East were not very aggres- 
sive in general home-mission work. Their vast 
field in the West was almost entirely neglected. 
Few had faith enough to see the great opportunity 
which foreign immigration created, and still fewer 


THE BOOM. 


153 


felt the responsibitity and duty which it imposed. 
The reports of a single-handed secretary and of 
roving missionaries were considered over-drawn 
and too highly colored. All their appeals to 
evangelize the West were treated as the wild-goose 
chasing of impractical visionaries. 

All these things were very discouraging to a few 
loyal souls. The Benders, though they had not 
given up all hope, began to feel that their church 
would not come to Canon City in their life-time. 
The work in the wind-mill was now too primitive, 
and would have to be given up. They had fondly 
hoped it would grow into a congregation; but, 
being now on the edge of the growing city, that 
prospect had disappeared. Though they had a 
lot, they could not, without aid, build a church. 
After repeated appeals to the Bast, this had always 
been refused. A low treasury and the needs of 
those nearer home were given as the reason. One 
of the few American Butheran families, weary of 
waiting, joined the Presbyterians. Their pastor in 
the Bast had written them that they should do so. 
The most wealthy Lutheran family sent its chil- 
dren to an Bpiscopal school, where they all became 
honored members of that communion. The ques- 
tion now came to Mr. and Mrs. Bender, “ Shall we 
cease waiting for our own and join another church, 


154 SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

and which shall it be?” It was not for them- 
selves, but for their children, that they now deter- 
mined to reach a decision. 

Just at this juncture Mr. Weissman once more 
appeared. As he had been the first, so he was on 
this occasion the last minister that preached in 
the log school-house. It was not convenient any 
more ; hence recourse was afterwards had to a hall 
above a saloon, which during week-days was used 
for low theatricals and dancing parties. Although 
he had nothing definite to propose, he invited all 
the Lutherans and their friends to meet him for 
consultation at the Bender residence. This had 
come to be understood as the Lutheran ral lying- 
point. But the interest was so low, the social 
bonds so weak, and lodges and business* so absorb- 
ing, that few, besides women, appeared. Thor- 
oughly disheartened, Mrs. Bender was sitting in 
the gloaming of Monday evening, waiting for her 
guests, the candle of hope flickering in her breast 

The first to come was Mrs. Lindborg, who, 
through all this time, in her quiet country home, 
had kept the fires of faith glowing. She was now 
able to speak English pretty freely. She had a 
thrilling experience to relate. The evening before, 
her husband had gone on an errand to OpsaPs. 
While waiting for him she had put her Hulda to 


THE BOOM. 


155 


sleep and laid her on the bed. Her second baby, 
Olga, was lying in the buggy beside it. Then she 
had sat on a chair to read by the light of a large 
Swedish tallow-candle. In the mud-walls behind 
the bed was a small aperture which she had before 
noticed. Just then, as she was gazing toward and 
over her child, the glaring eye of a rattle-snake 
appeared in that hole opposite her. Slowly the 
dangerous serpent glided out, and with a thud she 
heard his heavy body falling upon the floor. 
Quickly she placed the candle on the floor for 
better observation, when a gust of wind blew it 
out. There she was, barefooted, as it happened, in 
the darkness, with a deadly snake only a few yards 
away. Cautiously she relit her candle and placed 
it out of the draught, secured a poker, and waited 
for developments. Standing near the bed, she 
soon saw the flat head pushing from under the 
white curtain. She kept still until half of the 
body was out. In a flash, and with one stroke, 
she broke the reptile’s back-bone. Then the brave 
woman gave one wild shriek and fell over in a 
swoon. There her husband, who had been near 
enough to hear her cry, found her in the very 
semblance of death. As she related this incident 
of frontier life, she still was suffering from the 
effects of nervous chills. 


156 THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

“How thankful I am,” said Mrs. Bender, with 
true womanly sympathy, “that you had such a 
fortunate escape. A woman’s lot on these prairies 
is a hard one.” She now noticed that her young 
neighbor’s hair had turned iron-gray during the 
night, but she said nothing about it. Continuing 
she said, “It shows you can not in all these parts 
find one woman in twenty who is either contented 
or in perfect health. Their house-work is not so 
hard, but their home-life is narrow, their room 
contracted, and their social life very limited. So 
many can not even speak with each other. The 
sweetest relief is in the church, but our lyUtheran 
women can not understand each other well enough 
to keep up ours. And the men do- not show much 
interest, as a rule.” 

“That is why I came,” replied her neighbor. 
“I want my baby baptized to-night. I hope we 
get a church soon. Mrs. Berg wants me to com- 
mune with the Episcopal. She do. The Bishop 
tell her there is no difference.” 

“ Yes, I know. He told me so too, and, as he 
was educated in a Lutheran college, he should 
know, and 1 think he does. Samuel and Ruth go 
to catechise there now, and will be confirmed 
unless we get a minister. Who can blame us? 
Our children must not grow up like heathen.” 


THK BOOM. 


157 


Just then Mr. Weissman appeared and handed 
Mrs. Bender a letter. “This,” said he, “was just 
handed me by the poor fellow who was almost 
murdered last night. Give it to Mr. Bender, but 
do not let the public know who brought it to 
town.” 

“Who is this Cowboy Jim,” asked Mrs. Bender, 
“and why was he so foully shot? I just a while 
ago read of it in the papers.” 

“ Why, I can call him a friend of mine, who has 
liad a checkered career on the plains. He has no 
doubt been a wild and reckless man in his day, but 
he is a good-natured soul who would not now at 
least pick a quarrel with any one. He was at our 
services yesterday. Afterwards an acquaintance 
lured him into Snide’s hell-hole, which he had 
lately entirely avoided. For some reason he had 
not gone into any saloon during his present trip 
here as a mail-carrier. But last night, as I said, 
he was induced on some pretext to go into Snide’s. 
There they asked him to drink. He refused, de- 
claring that he and whiskey had dissolved partner- 
ship. Snide then poured the liquor out of the 
window, snarlingly remarking that some folks 
were too pious to drink at the bar since they had 
begun taking it behind the door. 

“This was meant to anger Jim. But he only 


158 THE SECRET OF THE CA^JON. 

coolly took out his revolver, saying, ‘ Snide, to show 
ye I’ve not forgot my old trade, look at this, and 
that,’ and, suiting the action to the word, he fired 
two lamps out. By this time all the visible loafers 
fled. Jim then placed his piece in his pocket again 
and walked up to the counter to pay for the lights. 
As he was in the act of doing so, an unknown 
assassin shot him from the rear — from behind a pile 
of beer-barrels.” 

“Do you think he will die?” anxiously inquired 
Mrs. Bender. 

“He has a chance for recovery,” replied Mr. 
Weissman pensively, “ and I hope he will. I need 
him. Mrs. Bender, he just told me that I had 
saved my own boy, John, from death in that great 
blizzard. He says the man in the shanty was 
none other than John. I thought his delirious 
talk was strangely familiar. But I did not recog- 
nize him at all.” 

“Does he know where he is?” sympathetically 
asked the hostess, as she arose to answer a knock 
on the door. 

“ No, not now; but he thinks he can put me on 
the trail to find him.” 

Mrs. Bender found Dr. Porter and Miss Smiley 
at the door. They had just returned from an 
evening ride. She was now teacher of the city 


THE BOOM. 


159 


grammar-school, and the doctor was president of 
the school-board. The Benders were always glad 
to see these true old friends. They had been tried. 
But never did they make her so happy as to-night 
when they volunteered to cast in their lot with the 
IvUtherans, in case they would build their intended 
church. Miss Smiley was from Quaker parentage, 
but was willing, from motives of friendship, and 
admiration for Martin Luther, to be a worker 
where her first pupils mostly would belong. The 
doctor kept his reasons to himself. Although 
there was no certainty that the Lutherans would 
ever have either a church or a settled pastor, the 
allegiance of these English friends was a great 
inspiration. Only about one- fourth of Mr. Weiss- 
man’s fiock was present at this meeting. The 
worst was, he had nothing to propose, except that 
they should continue doing the very thing of 
which they had grown sick — wait, wait, wait. 
Could it be that other denominations loved their 
children more than did theirs? Yet it was a fact 
that very few ever thought of leaving the mother- 
church. Though none would stand in the way of 
their sons and daughters by forbidding their unit- 
ing with any other, the majority of the fathers and 
mothers would die in the church in which they 
had been born. All the more should their loyalty 


i6o 


THE SECRET OF THE CAfJON. 


have been appreciated. It was pure as gold and 
true as steel. 

The Methodist pastor was more than amused by 
Mr. Kahn, who one evening dropped into his 
revival-services. Being in the habit of shaking 
hands with every stranger, he came up to our 
German friend, and, taking him by the hand, 
asked him, “Are you a Christian?” “No, sir,” 
was the quick reply, “I is a Lutheran.” The poor 
man did not know the difference. There should 
be none. 

Because of three facts, he was one of the few 
men present at this rally, which served the pur- 
pose of keeping the organization from falling 
apart. First, the Lutherans held a well-located 
lot. Secondly, five men — Messrs Bender, Kahn, 
Hansen, Opsal, and Lindborg — pledged them- 
selves to give three hundred dollars a year toward 
the support of a pastor. Thirdly, Mr. Weiss- 
man promised either to secure a pastor or to take 
charge of the people himself It having leaked 
out that no less a personage than old Snide had 
hinted that the Lutherans had no title to the lots 
which they claimed, he also promised to investigate 
the rumor. 

The meeting thus broke up in good spirits. 
Hope once more had enkindled the fires of enthu- 


THE BOOM. 


l6l 


siasm in the breasts of a few. But the majority 
lived on in their usual indifference. Many were 
indeed becoming stained with the polluting influ- 
ences of their worldly surroundings. They had 
no spiritual manna to nourish the soul. 

That evening Mr. Bender opened his letter. It 
read as follows: 

Dkar Friend Bender— By kindness of my friend Cowboy 
Jim (in whom I wish you would take an interest) I send you 
these lines. Your horses were stolen by a stool-pigeon that 
hangs around the Cedar Tree Palace (you understand), who 
sold them to a ranchman in Kansas, from whom the Sioux 
stole them. By means of my glass I have seen them among 
the red-skins. For the present, keep mum. 

Yours truly, 


JACK. 


CHAPTER XIL 


WARWHOOPS AND TOMAHAWKS. 

When Mr. Weissman left Canon City, he 
crossed the river on its rickety bridge, and went 
eastward along the north side. At the village of 
Plum Creek he was aroused from sleep about two 
o’clock in the morning by noises on the street. As 
the whole village seemed to be in confusion, he 
hastily dressed and went out to investigate the 
cause of the excitement. Here he met the most 
alarmed people he had ever seen. “ The Indians 
ditched the train ! The Indians ditched the 
train!” This was all the answer he could obtain. 
Going to the depot, he learned these facts. The 
night-train westward had gone out in two sections. 
The first had been wrecked by a trap set by a 
band of Cheyenne Indians, under chief Turkey 
Leg. At a small bridge, four miles from towp, 
they had lifted the rails from the ties, and by plac- 
ing loose ties under them to the height of three 
feet, had propped them to suit their purpose. Then 
they had concealed themselves in the tall grass. 


WARWHOOPS AND TOMAHAWKS. 163 

Before the train left Plum Creek, a hand-car 
with three men was sent ahead. This wise pre- 
caution failed of its object. The car rushed upon 
the obstacle on the track and was thrown into a 
small ravine. The concealed Indians immediately 
attacked the men. In the darkness two escaped. 
The other was scalped, but in his wild frenzy he 
grasped his own scalp, tore it out of the Indian’s 
hand, and also ran away. But the train came on. 
The fate of the unfortunate car and its crew was 
not as yet known. One of the uplifted rails 
pierced the boiler and the train was wrecked. 
Cars full of brick and merchandise were thrown 
about and over each other in confusion. The con- 
ductor had only time to see the engineer, who had 
been impaled by his own reverse-lever, sitting on 
the ground and holding in his viscera, while the 
fireman was being roasted alive in his own fire. 
He quickly started back to signal the other section 
and to get aid ; but not a man would go with him 
that night to the scene of disaster. The minister 
offered to go with twenty others, but not a vol- 
unteer responded. 

Early in the morning Mr. Weissman started 
alone. , When he came within sight of the wreck, 
he saw the savages in great glee over the success 
of their trick. They would tie the end of a bale 


164 the secret of the canton. 

of calico to a pony’s tail, then gallop up and down 
the prairie, just for the pleasure of seeing the 
bright colors streaming in the wind. 

This sport was accompanied by the most hila- 
rious yelling and barbaric laughter. But they 
soon left, with such plunder as they were able to 
carry. When Mr. Weissman came up he found 
the cars still burning, and the poor fireman and 
engineer charred by the fire. The scene was a sick- 
ening sight, from which he was glad to turn away. 

When the news of this outrage reached Canon 
City, the jDeople were thrown into a state of con- 
sternation, especially as there began to arrive ref- 
ugees from the west, telling of thefts, incendiar- 
isms, and murders on the part of the Indians. A 
great uprising was feared and also threatened. 

One afternoon, not long afterwards. Captain 
Holman called at the Bender home to say that the 
regulars and volunteers would soon move against a 
large body of Indians that was committing depre- 
dations not very far off. 

“In fact, we should have gone out already, but 
we are waiting for orders from Washington. We 
dare not save anybody from fire-brands and scalp- 
ing-knife until we are told to do so. Under such 
circumstances, Turkey Ueg can whip Grant.” He 
spoke a little impatiently. 


WARWHOOPS AND TOMAHAWKS. 1 65 

“I am tired of this suspense,” said Mr. Bender, 
“we must be afraid to go out on the prairie after 
our business. I wish these marauders could be 
driven off. I will help to do it. I am going to 
join the militia this time.” 

“Without asking my permission?” inquired his 
wife. “I shall never forget the horror that took 
place nearly opposite Plum Creek, on this side of 
the river, when we came out here. Captain, there 
was in our company a woman who was so crazed 
by the terrible sight that she suddenly wheeled 
around and started homeward alone. I have often 
wondered what became of her.” 

“I can tell you something of her fate,” answered 
the captain, with interest. ‘ ‘ She was not alto- 
gether alone ; you may remember she had a little 
boy with her — a ‘kid,’ excuse my frontier slang, 
about ten, I should say.” 

“I remember him, but I would sooner have 
seen her alone. The poor boy! Now, Captain, I 
hope you will not call children by the name of 
animals again.” The captain bowed at this rebuke, 
by a mother, of a common vulgarism of the plains. 
It had been gently done, but she meant it. 

“Thank you,” said he, “for reminding me of 
my paganism. My own mother would tell me 
better if she should hear me use such language as 


i66 


THE SECRET OF THE CARON. 


one naturally falls into the habit of using here. 
But to return to that case. I was interested in it. 
Afterwards being sent on an errand to Fort Atchi- 
son, I turned out of my way to learn the fate of 
that woman and her boy. Following her trail, I 
came to the place where she spent the first night. 
She had cooked her meal and tethered her horses. 
The next day she had veered from her direct 
course. Where she spent the second night she had 
killed a wolf with the butt-end of her gun. He 
evidently had prowled about to steal her meat. 
The next day she wandered still further from the 
right way and apparently drove furiously. The 
fourth day her- track was nothing but zig-zags and 
circles. It is likely that she no longer held the 
lines, but let the team follow its own course. At 
last I found the wagon. It had been rifled of its 
contents. That is the last trace I could discover 
either of her, or her property, or the boy. What 
became of them I never heard.” 

“Isn’t it too sad to think of!” said Mrs. Bender. 
“Why did she not keep the wagon-path? She 
might have reached Omaha in safety.” 

“ Oh, she became insane from solitude. The ex- 
perience of being so entirely alone in the immensity 
of the prairie has caused many cases of this pe- 
culiar malady.” 


WARWHOOPS AND TOMAHAWKS. 


167 


The captain now made signs of preparing to 
leave. But Mr. Bender insisting on his staying 
longer, he continued speaking, playing with his 
cap the while. 

“I also have a question or two to ask you. 
Captain,” said Mr. Bender, smiling, “especially 
since I have no experience as a soldier. But you 
may remember that, when we first met you, at the 
scene of the massacre, we told you there had been 
two white women in that wagon-train. Did you 
ever receive any intelligence of them ? You said 
they were not among the dead.” 

“No; I have never heard anything of them. 
But we suppose they are among the Indians, held 
as captives. Squaw ‘Bloody Hand,’ as she is 
called, some months ago told me her tribe had two 
white women. They may be the same. Canon 
Jack also thinks so.” 

“Yes, she was here at that time, and we could 
hardly understand her; but we made out that she 
was jealous of those white squaws, as she called 
them,” said Mr. Bender. 

“No; you were mistaken. She was jealous of 
Mrs. Snide, and came to town expressly to kill 
her. She did make an attack, you recall, on Mr. 
Snide. I suppose you know the reason.” And he 
arched his eyebrows. 


i68 


THE SECRET OF THE CARON. 


“Yes,” warmly answered Mrs. Bender, “such 
men deserve to fare no better at the hands of even 
an Indian woman whom they have wronged. I 
suppose a squaw has feelings as well as her white 
sisters.” 

“This one at least,” added the captain, “has 
good qualities. The papoose she had with her 
was not her own, but her dead sister’s child. She 
adopted it.” 

Here the captain changed the subject by asking 
them whether they had noticed the latest society- 
sensation — the published list of servant-girl ladies. 

“Yes, what does it mean?” asked Mrs. Bender 
with a woman’s curiosity. Gossip about the 
weaknesses of her sex was no pleasant subject of 
conversation to her. But this newspaper’s imper- 
tinence had made her indignant. 

“Why,” answered the captain in confidence, 
“ up to this time in the history of the city, society 
made no distinction between servants and mis- 
tresses. The banker’s wife would dance with 
John, the barber, and the banker himself would 
dance with a waiting girl. But since the boom, 
Mrs. Snide had instituted a revolution of this pris- 
tine simplicity. She said it was time quality 
asserted itself, that blood should tell. So she did 
not invite a single servant-girl to her last party. 


WARWHOOPS AND TOMAHAWKS. 1 69 

This innovation angered the editor of the Spread 
Eagle, who himself is about to marry a dining- 
room girl, and he has taken his revenge by show- 
ing that every one of those ‘ sarsatiety aristocrats,’ 
as he calls them, once was a kitchen-biddy.” 

“But that is mean,” commented Mrs. Bender. 

“Yes, likely many will think so,” said the cap- 
tain rising, and smiling at the foibles and follies of 
mankind. Taking out his watch, he said: “I must 
go. It will soon be time for guard-mount.” And 
the soldier was off. That evening he received 
orders to march against the Indians. 

Opportunely for him, Canon Jack also came to 
th-e Fort that night. He had some necessary in- 
formation to impart. For weeks he had been 
watching the movements of the Indians, and had 
discovered their camp. He could lead the army 
right to it. He was not surprised to find Cowboy 
Jim wounded. He felt sure he knew who did it, 
and the cause of the murderous assault. In view 
of the fact that the soldiers, and even all the avail- 
able fighting men of the place, would be with- 
drawn for an indefinite period, the police force 
suddenly became very stringent. They first of all 
determined to clean the town of the brood of pro- 
fessional gamblers that had infested it from the 
beginning. These constituted an unsavory class 


170 THE SECRET OF THE CANTON. 

of human leeches who subsisted on the blood of 
their fellow-men. Some of them actually had 
gambled on the coffins of their dead comrades. 
These now received notice that, unless they left 
the town within the next twenty-four hours, they 
would be hung on the cedar tree at Snide’s Palace. 
When that worthy heard it he ordered his bar- 
tender to cut it down. But a crowd of men, who 
had so often been fleeced, some of home and every- 
thing else, by the parasitic fraternity, told him 
before that tree was cut down he himself should 
first be strung up on it. Hence he very meekly 
and tremblingly requested the woodman to spare 
it. Thus this convenient natural gallows re- 
mained standing as a menace to evil-doers. The 
moral code of the frontier was, in a few points, 
different from that of settled communities. Shoot- 
ing a man in a quarrel was not considered a crime 
worthy of a coroner’s inquest. A cold-blooded 
murderer and a horse-thief were treated alike. 
Several of these had already suffered the ven- 
geance of mob-law on Snide’s tree, and their bodies 
were laid in the first graves that were dug in the 
local cemetery. But others just as guilty were yet 
at large. 

Canon Jack upon his arrival that night was soon 
closeted with his old friend Jim. Both these men 


WARWHOOPS AND TOMAHAWKS. 17I 

knew who had stolen Mr. Bender’s horses, and 
where the clever plan was concocted, and who the 
chief conspirator was. But they did not have in 
hand the proof to convict. Besides, they knew his 
character, and, like the really brave men they 
were, they preferred not to rouse the tiger, unless 
it should become necessary to do so. The fact 
was, he might have been able to weave around 
Cowboy Jim a web of circumstantial evidence that, 
in the present excitement, would have been 
greatly to his detriment. 

“There be no kind ’o doubt,” said Jim, “thet 
Snide’s man shot me. I never seed ’im in the 
shebang, and the angel what brings me my meals 
seed ’im a’ runnin out o’ the side door — arter I was 
shot, mind ye.” 

“ May I ask your angel’s name?” said the scout. 

“McCabe — Nora McCabe. She be one of the 
purtiest an’ Jesus-like angels as ever lived. Fer 
her I could die an’ be a Christian, I could. I 
starved a’most, afore she brought me somethin.” 

“ But we must not expose her, Jim. We’ll keep 
her name in the shade.” 

“Another dark trick peers out o’ them long eye- 
lids of that air hyener,” said Jim, rising up far 
enough to rest on his elbow. As one who felt that 
thin partitions might have ears, he spoke in low 


172 the secret of the CAfJON. 

tones: “I believe Elder Weissman’s George is 
buried in Snide’s cellar. He was that soldier-boy 
what never was heerd of arter he drawed his back 
pay. I ain’t sure, mind ye ; but he was called into 
the shebang an’ never came out agin. They did 
investigate, but I believe they drug his body to 
the island fust, an’ then arter the investigation 
they put it under ground in the cellar. Ther be a 
grave in the sou’ east corner o’ that cellar — that I 
know — an’ Corporal George Weissman disappeared 
right there.” 

This effort exhausted the sick man, and he fell 
back to rest himself. The scout fell into a reverie. 
He wished to ask Jim how he knew of the ex- 
istence of that sepulchre, but thought he might 
some day tell him of his own accord. Of the fact 
he had no doubt ; Jim’s positive statements always 
were gospel. Eying was none of his faults. He 
was the last man to tell an untruth. 

When the scout came into the street, he found 
the town in an uproar. The center of tumult was 
at Snide’s saloon. This always had been a nest of 
gamblers. The proprietor seemed to take special 
pleasure in harboring them. For some reason 
most of the brotherhood wore broad-brimmed 
white hats — a sign by which they could be known. 
By this time it was midnight and all but a few 


WARWHOOPS AND TOMAHAWKS. 1 73 

white hats had disappeared. One of the worst 
desperadoes was hiding in Snide’s cellar. When 
this became known, an emergency Vigilant Com- 
mittee sent him a note informing him that unless 
he should be out of town at midnight, by the 
saloon-clock, he might know what to expect. 
Snide did not say much, but the lid of his sinister 
left eye seemed to hang down lower and the squint 
of his right one was more pronounced than ever. 
When the time set arrived, the villain who justly 
had been suspected of several mysterious murders 
and who actually had killed three men over 
heated card-games, did not come out. Every one 
was well aware that the first half-dozen men who 
would venture into that dark hole would pay 
dearly for their daring. Hence the officers of 
police told Snide that he must choose the alterna- 
tive, either of inducing Buck Taylor to come out 
or of having his building burned to the ground. 
At first he hesitated, but after a man, to whom the 
scout had just whispered something, cried out from 
the crowd, “Snide, do you want a graveyard in 
your cellar?” he nervously relented and went 
down. To cut the under-floor conference short, a 
few lighted coal-oil-soaked rags were thrown after 
him. These soon brought both men to the sur- 
face. Buck at first showed fight, but several dozen 


174 "thk secret of the ca5^on. 

cocked revolvers soon brought him to bay. He 
was told to throw up his hands, which he re- 
luctantly did. He did not beg for his life. He 
was too defiant ; besides, he knew it was useless. 
He was pushed to the outside, taken to the tree, a 
rope was adjusted to his neck, thrown over the 
first limb, the end grasped by a dozen hands, and 
the miserable man soon was swinging between 
heaven and earth — that heaven to which he never 
had prayed, that earth to which he had always 
been a curse. Snide now came out to say that 
they “ought to give the feller a chance for his 
life” “What chance,” cried the same voice that 
had before stung him, “ a chance to steal horses, 
instead of robbing people?” This query almost 
caused the proprietor to run into cover. All were 
now as quiet as death. It was an awful thing to 
see even a criminal thus dangling in mortal throes. 
Just then the scout suggested, “ Perhaps this man 
knows somethin’. Boys, why not git his confes- 
sion?” This was an idea which, in their haste, 
had not occurred to them. Hence the rope was 
relaxed until the man’s feet touched the ground. 
He was not dead, but too weak to speak. He 
collapsed and rolled on the ground, a helpless, 
pitiable heap of sinful humanity. At last he was 
lifted up, and he sat on a small cracker-box. 


WARWHOOPS AND TOMAHAWKS. 1 75 

All stood around in respectful silence, waiting 
with unusual patience until the prisoner should 
sufficiently revive to speak his last words upon 
earth. In the presence of eternity the fires of 
passion first burned low, and then, like ancient 
evening hearth-coals, went out altogether. 

While we are waiting for this confession, not a 
professional gambler, except Buck Taylor, is 
within the city limits. But there are a goodly 
number of unapprehended offenders who ought to 
be where this half-dead one is. Justice in this 
world can never be perfectly administered, because 
human nature is not omniscient. But there is 
One who sees and knows all, and whose balances 
will make no mistakes. 

At some one’s suggestion that other rascals 
might be hiding in the cellar, a few men went 
down with lights. They noticed that both Snide 
and “his man” had left the room. The scout 
followed. In the south-east corner was a clean-cut 
depression, such as one sees on cemeteries, when 
graves are said to have “ fallen in.” 

But it was now early morning, and the drums at 
the Fort were sounding the call to arms. Soon 
the army would begin to file out for a long march. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE pioneer’s last TOUR. 

We left Mr. Weissman amidst the horrors of 
the wreck which Turkey Leg and his band had 
wrought. A repair train, with several passenger 
coaches attached to it, soon cleared the track of 
rubbish, and on this he proceeded to North Platte, 
where the Union Pacific Railroad crosses the 
river. The day of traveling by pony now was 
past. The iron-horse, or “new buffalo,” as the 
aborigines called it, had taken its place. The 
“wild and woolly” frontier life gradually was 
passing into the more civilized forms of society. 
This, many of the early settlers regretted ; hence 
many of them pulled up stakes and went still 
further west. Many of these restless spirits did 
not stop till they reached the Pacific Ocean, and 
then wept because there was no other West to 
which to go. The grave alone, it seems, could 
destroy their emigrating disposition. When once 
started, they did not know when or how to stop. 
Even now there was an endless line of white 
(176) 


THE pioneer’s LAST TOUR. 1 77 

“prairie schooners” scattered all along the rail- 
road. On the trains were many invalids, who 
were coming to the elevated plains for the purpose 
of discovering in their dry atmosphere and 
unturned soil an elixir for all kinds of diseases. 
The ozone of these high regions was bracing, its 
eternal sunshine was calculated to cheer the 
melancholy. Many no doubt here lengthened 
their days. 

One of the army of invalids was a companion in 
travel of Mr. Weissman. He was pale, and thin 
and crooked as an interrogation point, and just as 
inquisitive. An annoying peculiarity about him 
was that he constantly was pelting his fellow - 
passengers with questions concerning things which 
he himself perfectly knew. At the depot already 
he had asked the ticket-agent, “When will the 
next train go? Will this one go before the next 
one?” He now took advantage of every station to 
persecute the conductor. In a high-pitched, whin- 
ing voice he would ask, “Mr. Conductor?” 

“Well, sir,” that worthy would say. 

“Is this Cozad?” piped out the health-seeker, 
as he gazed upon his guide-book, with his finger 
on the very word “ Cozad.” 

“Yes, sir!” yelled the railroad man in bass 
tones. 


178 THE SECRET OF THE CARON. 

“That’s what I thought,” shrieked the tenor 
voice in exasperating shrillness. 

At the next station the same interview took 
place. As soon as the engine whistled, our 
invalid stopped the conductor, who was trying to 
run through the car. 

“Mr. Conductor?” 

“Well, what do you want this time?” he asked 
a little impatiently, as he kept moving forward. 

“ Is this Gothenburg ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ That’s what I thought.” Some of the passen- 
gers laughed, but the interlocutor paid no atten- 
tion to them. A sweet look of satisfaction rested 
upon his countenance. He felt so sure this was 
Gothenburg, because both his guide-book and the 
conductor said so. ^ 

At North Platte the climax was reached. As 
he was pulling the bell to signal the engineer, the 
invalid once more hailed him. As the cars made 
a great noise his tones were louder than ever. 

“ Mr. Conductor ! ” 

For the ninth time that worthy answered with a 
scowl. “ Well, sir, what now? ” 

“Is this North Platte?” once more inquired the 
innocent weakling, as he placed his thumb-nail 
upon the word in the guide-book. 


THE pioneer’s EAST TOUR. 179 

This was too much. Turning upon him in a 
fury, he energetically halloed, 

“ Say, do you take me for a foolf'''^ 

‘‘That’s what I thought!” replied the invalid 
passenger, without looking up from the book. 
The others roared with laughter. But the man, 
who was so well content and happy because he 
was now sure this was North Platte, seemed all 
unconscious of the humor of the occasion. While 
the conductor went out of the car, he was heard 
murmuring to himself, “ I am glad I don’ t need to 
X,2ik!^you any further.” 

On stepping off at the station, Mr. Weissman 
was surprised to find Mr. Kuhl, Mr. Bender, and 
other people from Canon City there, and all with 
guns. They had all volunteered to enter the ser- 
vice for the purpose of putting down the Indian 
uprising further west. Even Samuel Bender and 
Olaf Hansen were among the recruits. They got 
the army-fever, and their parents thought it might 
as well, if not better, rage itself out on the field, as 
to consume them at home, where they could 
neither eat nor sleep any more on account of it. 
The regular army was encamped just out of the 
city limits. The cooks were just frying fresh 
venison and baking biscuits, and the savory atmos- 
phere of the culinary department of the army was 


i8o 


THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 


tantalizing to the appetite and, in the minds of 
onlookers, wove the charms of romance about a 
soldier’s life. For the time all hardships and 
dangers were forgotten. Everything had the 
appearance of a gala-day. Mr. Weissman had the 
pleasure of taking mess with Captain Holman, 
who had charge of this expedition. Henceforth, 
however, his recent promotion will require us to 
address him as Colonel. 

Most of the four or five thousand people who, at 
this time, found themselves at North Platte, did 
not live in houses, but in tents and wagons. They 
were but waiting on the result of this present 
military campaign, in order to move on toward the 
Black Hills. At night it was difficult to find 
lodging, except on the bare ground and under the 
open canopy of the sky. Through Mr. Kuhl’s 
influence with his old surveying-corps, which was 
camped here, Mr. Weissman received permission 
to sleep in their tent. After being disgusted with 
several drunken brawls in which some boisterous 
women figured and during which daggers were 
gleaming in the moonlight, Mr. Weissman and 
Mr. Kuhl sought their lodging-place. When they 
came to the opening of the tent, the sentry de- 
manded who they were and whether they had 
brought any wood. “ O, I forgot,” said Mr. Kuhl, 


THE pioneer’s east TOUR. l8l 

as he remembered the old custom of his corps not 
to let any one “turn in” at night, unless he first 
produced a piece of wood — the scarcest article on 
the prairie, “But,” added he, “We can not get 
any to-night, unless we steal it.” All the answer 
he received was, “We can’t help how you get it.” 
“ Here is a piece of wood, if that is all you want,” 
humorously said Mr. Weissman, handing them his 
cane, which he had picked up from the wreck 
near Plum Creek. To the objection that it could 
not be used for fuel, he replied that he would on 
the morrow redeem it with something better. 
Hence he was admitted. But Mr. Kulil had yet 
to secure a piece. He did, and it was a new one 
which had not long left a lumber yard. He said it 
was “part of a lawyer’s fee.” Thus Mr. Weissman 
had a delightful slumber, like a child’s, on the 
very spot where now stands the beautiful and 
substantial First Hutheran Church. But of this 
he had no hint. The lots that he had, on a for- 
mer occasion, secured from the U. P. R. R. com- 
pany were in another part of the town. He, how- 
ever, on this occasion asked Mr. Kuhl to see to it 
that his deed for them was properly recorded. 
“ Yes,” said his legal friend, “I will; but for want 
of doing so, I think you will have trouble with 
your lots at Canon City.” 


i 82 


THE SECRET OF THE CARon. 


Early next morning the troops and militia, mostly 
cavalry, went on the march. The bustle of prepa- 
ration and the cheering of the citizens who re- 
mained to guard the place, as well as to carry on 
the necessary affairs of civilized life, presented a 
lively scene. Our pioneer accompanied the army 
as far as Ogalalla. From this point on he traveled 
with a strongly guarded caravan that was bound 
for the Black Hills country. After several days a 
halt was made at Fort Sidney. Here the lovers of 
law and order, the necessary heralds of civilized 
existence and harbingers of peace for these frontier 
communities, had just cleaned the Augean stables. 
Consequently Mr. Weissman was sickened by the 
sight of two ghastly corpses of gamblers and cut- 
throats hanging on telegraph-poles. Here the In- 
dian scare was not very intense. But as a precau- 
tion the regiment stationed here was held in readi- 
ness to move at a moment’s notice. Remembering 
his vocation, the pioneer missionary began to look 
after the prospects of the kingdom of God in this 
Babylon ot confused tongues. He discovered no 
less than ten languages in the place. Among the 
settlers he found many of his own faith and an un- 
usual proportion of Americans. As usual, he here 
met that van-guard of home missions, a Methodist 
circuit-rider on the ground. Mr. Weissman called 


THE pioneer’s LAST TOUR. 183 

on him and learned that his Board was willing to 
grant one thousand dollars a year to the work at 
Sidney. The Episcopalians, who seemed to be 
making the army a specialty, had contributed a 
like sum. “lam glad,” said the intelligent and 
generous follower of Wesley, “ that you are com- 
ing here. The Lutherans have more members here 
than any other Protestant church — in fact as many 
as the rest combined.” A blush of shame he felt 
creeping over his face, as Mr. Weissman remem- 
bered that Sidney had not as yet so much as been 
mentioned in one of his church papers, and that 
likely not a dollar could be secured to begin work 
among his own people there. But he was laboring 
for the future, like every other true optimist, and 
hence visited the advance agents of the U. P. 
company to ask them to donate some lots. Mean- 
while he preached in the rude Methodist meeting- 
place, where he found a capable Lutheran, who 
was superintendent of the Sunday-school. In the 
thickest of the battle all jealousies ought to fade. 
In this case they did. Heartily wishing his col- 
league in the Gospel success in building up the 
waste places of Zion, Mr. Weissman joined a large 
company of adventurers and miners on their way 
to the Black Hills gold-fields. He was following a 
clue that would take him to the head waters of the 


184 THE SECRET OF THE CANON. 

Platte. A matter of the heart urged him on. Many 
waters can not quench love, neither can the floods 
drown, nor fire destroy it. There are no mountains 
it will not scale, no valleys it will not traverse, and 
distance for it has no existence. Besides, like the 
instincts of a bird, though not always immediately 
reaching its object, it ever finds the right direction 
toward it. 

In order to gain the scene of the fall into the 
cabin, at the time of the blizzard, he finally left the 
mule-train and cut across country. For this trip he 
had purchased a burro — a very small, sure-footed 
donkey, which could be ridden anywhere in that 
hilly district. If it had not been for a high pack- 
saddle, the preacher’s feet, when he mounted this 
long-eared piece of patience, would have touched 
the ground. If he did cut a ludicrous figure, there 
were no witnesses in the sage-brush and chaparral 
of the hills, or in the desert-wastes of the sandy 
plain, to laugh at him. For a few hours after devi- 
ating from the stage-route, he could now and then 
catch a glimpse of the caravan as it loomed upon a 
summit, but at last he plunged into utter loneliness 
in the un wooded wilderness. He had nothing ex- 
cept the sun and a pocket compass to guide him. 
He never before realized how monotonous the 
“bad lands” were. He could not distinguish one 


THE pioneer’s last TOUR. 185 

hillock from another. All seemed alike in size and 
contour and color. Save the charred blackness, 
the entire landscape had the appearance of a burnt 
district. Nature here seemed to be one whole 
graveyard. Not a sign of life, not the stirring of an 
insect or the chirp of a sparrow, not even the cheer 
of a green blade of grass, to say nothing of the 
smile of a greeting flower, was anywhere visible or 
audible. Below nothing but death, above nothing 
but the merciless glare of the sun, even a tree 
would have been hailed as a friend. But there was 
none. No; but having now come to a long plateau 
of sand, evidently the bed of an ancient lake, a 
scene of loveliness burst upon the pilgrim’s view. 

There appeared in the distance a beautiful sheet 
of water, fringed by graceful trees and studded 
with floating islands ! hike an enchantment in a 
fairy-land hung this delightful picture against the 
horizon. According to instructions, he had been 
looking for the sources of canons, that he might 
follow one south-eastward toward his destination, 
but he was not expecting to find the waters of 
Eden in the Sahara! Even his burro seemed 
pleased with the discovery. The thirsty man, who 
had been wetting his lips at a bottle of tepid water, 
changed his course, without observing it, and un- 
consciously hastened toward this dream-like lake. 


i86 


THE SECRET OF THE CANON. 


Alas, he could not get nearer to it ! 

It seemed to have life and to move away from 
him. For hours he urged his faithful beast, then 
alighted and pulled it along, until he was ex- 
hausted. The truth is, one of Mr. Weissman’s age 
should not have undertaken such a journey. But 
blind love once more had forgotten to consult 
reason. Puffing and perspiring at every pore, he 
finally sat on a heap of buffalo bones to rest, but 
without taking his eyes from the vision of beauty 
ahead. He spoke aloud to himself, “ I must reach 
those grassy banks before I will camp.” But he 
did not. 

It was now late in the afternoon. As the slant 
of the sinking sun changed its angle, the mirrored 
lake, with its emerald isles, began to fade. Tike 
one who is listening to the dying cadences of an 
angePs song, sat Mr. Weissman in that dreary soli- 
tude. He could hardly believe his own senses. 
Was he fully awake? Was he yet on terra firma^ 
or on some etherial sphere? At least the sheet of 
water, the floating islands and the fringe of trees 
were entirely gone, and only the burning desert re- 
mained. It all had been a mirage! Never had 
anything so thoroughly deceived and disappointed 
our pilgrim. Having now been beguiled far away 
from his course, and feeling sick at heart, as though 


THK pioneer’s LAST TOUR. 187 

he had just witnessed an ill portent, he sought a 
lodging-place for the night. Never did he seem to 
himself so absent-minded, so unwatchfnl, and so 
careless of danger. He never thought of taking 
any precautions against either wild beast or red 
men, and he really did not care whether or not he 
lived to see another day. That mirage seemed too 
much a melancholy picture of his own life — a his- 
tory of failure. As if to add to his mental dejec- 
tion, as well as physical fatigue, he soon came upon 
a human skeleton, that evidently had long been 
bleaching in the sun. Only the buttons of his 
clothing and his shoe-soles showed that the flesh of 
a white man once covered these bones. As they 
were not scattered, it was safe to conclude that their 
owner had died a natural death — at least, that he 
was not killed by wild animals. Since his clothing 
had been removed only by the weather, it was likely 
that the Indians had not killed him. Strangely to 
himself, this grinning skeleton gave him a sense of 
companionship. Was it not once animated by a 
brother ? This once was a dear baby sleeping in a 
fond mother’s arms, with its cheek pressing hard 
against her breast. Thus the feeling of human 
kinship grew so strong that the pioneer determined 
to sleep in the neighborhood of this human bone- 
heap. 


i88 


THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 


From the flight of an eagle he learned in which 
direction the nearest spurs of the Rocky mountains 
might lie, and from the position of the North Star 
he knew the points of the compass at night Other- 
wise he was lost. As he lay down upon the warm 
earth and turned his face toward his silent compan- 
ion, now visible in the moonlight, he tearfully 
offered to God a prayer in loud tones, not caring 
whether his fate were the same. Perhaps some of 
his children’s bones were thus glistening in the 
moon-light^ Perhaps these are the mortal remains 
of one of them ! 

“ But there was weeping far away, 

And gentle eyes, for him, 

With watching many an anxious day. 

Were sorrowful and dim. 

“ Long, long they looked — but never spied 
His welcome step again. 

Nor knew the fearful death he died 
Far down that narrow glen.” 

With these lines of Bryant straying into his 
memory, he fell asleep. When he awoke, the sun 
was up. After breakfasting on pemniican himself, 
and feeding his kind-eyed burro with the last prov- 
ender he had on hand, he took up his journey, 
following the course which the eagle had taken. 
Once more, though with altered details, he saw 


THE pioneer’s east TOUR. 189 

the mirage, but he would not a second time be led 
astray by it. All that day his journey was a con- 
tinuous trudging among sand-dunes. Not until 
evening did he meet tufts of grass and get sight of 
the chaparral of the foot-hills of the mountains. 
Just about sundown he caught a glimpse of Pike’s 
Peak glistening in the last rays, as though the 
dome of the continent were illuminated by a touch 
of Heaven’s glory. Hearing the cackle of seeds- 
ke-dee, or prairie-grouse, here called sage-hens, he 
knew that the danger of starvation was past. This 
fact he proved to himself by shooting and broiling 
a chicken, by suspending it over a fire with his 
ramrod. Tittle did he suspect that the report of 
his gun had been heard far away by one who was 
considerably agitated by it. 

About a mile away a cowboy was, at that time, 
leisurely riding in his native element. A hand- 
kerchief around his neck, a blouse, chaparejos, 
cartridge-belt, sombrero, lariat, carbine, bronco — 
all showed the calling of the stoutly built and full- 
whiskered man. All day he had been riding on 
the outskirts of a large ranch, to look out for 
Indian horse-thieves. He had seen none. But he 
was so far from the headquarters that he had de- 
termined to camp for the night. He had just un- 
saddled liis bronco and tethered him, so that he 


igo THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

might browse on the dry herbage, when he was 
greatly surprised by the report of the gun. He 
had seen no trail and did not suspect the presence 
of Indians or white men. What could this mean? 
He stood still a few moments. Then taking his 
gun and cautiously creeping to a clump of sage- 
brush on an elevation, he lay down to watch for 
the cause of this shooting. He soon saw the white 
smoke of Mr. Weissman’s fire curling out of a 
pocket. Thinking it must be the location of an 
Indian camp, he could not understand why it was 
so mysteriously quiet. Could it be that the savages 
had discovered his approach ? Should he go to the 
ranch-house and give the alarm, or should he steal 
up to these strangers to ascertain their numbers 
and character? He did the latter. Leading his 
bronco through depressions at first, then mounting 
him and riding upon higher ground, he waited for 
sights or sounds. There were none. Never was 
this son of the plains so mystified. At last he 
became bold enough to ride to the very edge of the 
pocket, but windward, so that the horses of the 
mysterious camp might not scent him and his. 
There he peered down into the gloom that was not 
much relieved by the few dying coals of the camp- 
fire. He could no more than locate the spot. But 
soon the moon would rise. He would wait for it, 


THE pioneer’s east TOUR. 191 

and then, if discovered, ride for his life. Alas, a 
feeling of superstition chilled him to the soul ! He 
shook so that his gun fell from his hand ! The sound 
of singing comes from the pocket — the language 
English, and the voice familiar! “There is a 
Happy Laud I ” “ Rock of Ages.” 

“ Sun of my soul, thou Saviour dear, 

It is not night, if Thou be near.” 

Such songs of his childhood and in accents that 
immediately carry the heart back to home and 
mother! The cowboy recalled a Sunday-school 
verse which said, “ The Eord, our Maker, giveth 
songs in the night.” Was He giving these? 
And who was this singer — an angel, or spirit, or a 
human being? The rough-appearing cowboy 
with one knee upon the ground, with one hand 
holding his gun also resting on the earth, and with 
the other his bronco, began to weep like a child. 
He might forget the singer, he had not forgotten 
the song. The moon was now up. As if ashamed 
of its gaze, he dried his eyes and prepared to greet 
that unconscious soloist. He can not be an enemy. 
If his mouth speaks the abundance of his heart, 
his heart must be only good. No one need be 
afraid of him who thus sings the hymns of the 
Church. 


192 THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

Still leading his animal, he cautiously and 
almost noiselessly drew nearer toward the pit of 
the pocket. Mr. Weissman’s burro soon dis^ 
covered him and lifted up his head and snorted 
vigorously. His owner did not notice it. The 
approaching ranchman was now standing directly 
in front of the minister, who needed only to open 
his eyes to see him. But he was wrapt in reverie 
and song. Not until the stranger’s horse neighed 
at sight of a kindred yoke-fellow, did he look up. 
By this time the stranger had time to scan his face 
and to recognize it There could be no mistake 
about it. As he now met the upturned gaze of 
one he had not for many years seen, he was over- 
come with filial emotions and cried out into the 
stillness of the night and the solitude of the 
prairie, “Father! Father! Is it you? Do you 
know me? ” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE BATTEE. 

After getting into the Indian country the 
army on its march every hour met people fleeing 
on horseback and in vehicles. They told terrible 
tales of the depredations and murders of the war- 
party of red skins which had left the reservation. 
But no particular sign of their approach and 
dreadful work was met with until the third night. 
Then Canon Jack came in from the hills to tell 
the result of his scouting. He reported the 
marauders to be only five miles off, engaged in a 
war-dance; as if expecting an encounter, and 
rejoicing over the spoils of the day, and likely 
tormenting such prisoners as they might have 
captured. 

Everything was now put into a state of prepara- 
tion for the night. The provision and ammuni- 
tion wagons were drawn in a circle, and a strong 
guard placed on duty by Colonel Holman, under 
whom all arrangements were made. When every- 
thing was ready for the night. Canon Jack came to 

13 (193) 


194 secret of the CAf?ON. 

Mr. Bender and said, “ I think I saw your nags 
to-day. Those Injuns have them. They stole 
them in Kansas from people who had honestly 
bought them from some white rapscallion.” 

“I have no idea of the case,” replied Mr. Ben- 
der. “You know more than I do — in fact, you 
seem to know everything that goes on. And I am 
obliged to you for your interest. I appreciate it.” 

“ Maybe we’ll get them by to-morrow, and then 
I’ll tell you what mean rascal stole them. A little 
stretch of hemp would’ nt hurt him,” said the 
scout, v/ith lowering brow — “ it would put hemp 
to good use anyhow.” 

“You v/ill see a happy family, if we get our 
horses again,” answered Mr. Bender, and continu- 
ing further said, ‘ ‘ Scout, there was a squaw at our 
house long ago, and she said there were two white 
women in her tribe. ” 

“I know there are,” earnestly spoke the scout. 
Look here ! ” And he pulled out of his haversack 
the bleached shoulder-blade of an elk, on which 
were scratched the name “Carrie Rusk” and the 
words, “Captive among the Indians.” 

“ I found more than one of them. Almost every 
time I got on the site of an old camp I stumbled 
on a bone of this kind. Only sometimes two 
names were on. No doubt the poor souls thought 


THE BATTLE. 


195 


somebody would find one of these bone tablets, and 
thus their friends possibly might find them. On 
one bone the address, ‘Ft. Wayne’ was carved. 
That one I sent to the postmaster of that place. 
He gave it to one of the Rusk family.” 

“Well, I see these captives had their plans well 
laid, and I do hope they shall be delivered. And 
if they are, they will owe something to the sharp 
eyes of a scout,” warmly remarked Mr. Bender. 

The scout said no more, but looked as though 
he had a pleasant thought in mind. Nothing 
gave him so much pleasure as usefulness. 

Mr. Bender now wished to lie down for some 
rest. But he could not induce Samuel and Olaf to 
do so. They were excited and wanted to remain 
near the guards. Somehow they had formed the 
fancy that there would be a night attack, and of 
course they could not miss it. The fate of the 
army depended on their prowess. Knowing 
that experience was necessary to cure the military 
fever which boys so often get, or, rather, which 
gets them, he asked Col. Holman to assign them to 
duty among the guards. 

The pickets were placed several hundred yards 
out from camp. Behind them was a second line. 
Here the boys were given posts. The pass-word 
for the night was “The Stars.” No one could 


196 THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

come into camp that night unless he could give 
that word. To make sure of not forgetting it, the 
boys kept repeating to themselves, “The Stars, 
The Stars.” 

It was now past midnight. The corporal came 
around to inspect the guard. When he reached 
Olaf, that boy was so sleepy he could no more than 
stagger on his beat When he saw the corporal he 
was so startled that he dropped his gun on the 
ground. Samuel was at the end of his beat lean- 
ing against a wagon wheel, fast asleep. Shaking 
him the corporal exclaimed, “Hello, boy, what 
are you doing here ! ” All confused and only half- 
awake, he stammered through his chattering teeth, 
“ I — I — I’m keeping — the stars ! ” No two boys 
were ever more glad to be relieved from duty, to 
go into their tent and to roll in their blankets. 
They had learned what playing soldier means. 

Next morning they did not want to remember 
what had happened during the night, but did. 
And some of the soldiers would not let them forget 
it. The hasty breakfast tasted well. But soon 
the horses, standing face to face in several long 
rows along ropes, were saddled. The bugles were 
not sounded as usual, but the men fell in line at 
the word of command. The march began. The 
troops moved in battle-array. Canon Jack, with 


THE BATTLE. 


197 


a company of picked men who had some experi- 
ence in Indian warfare, led the van. After these 
came, first single riders, then two by two, next a 
few more, and lastly the main force. Thus this 
army of more than a thousand men moved in line 
of battle against the hidden foe. 

After proceeding about two miles a herd of cattle 
was encountered The owner was driving them 
away from danger, and told Col. Holman he might 
use all the meat he needed if he would protect 
them. At the same time a scout came in, saying 
that the Indians still were in camp in the basin 
where they had spent the night. Not wishing 
in this crisis to spare any men. Col. Holman, 
among other boys, despatched Samuel and Olaf to 
guard the cattle and take them farther to the 
rear. Having become detached, while they were 
doing this, a squad of Indians appeared to dispute 
the possession of the herd. Riding like lightning 
and yelling like madmen, they soon were near 
enough to shoot Olaf^s horse from under him. 
When the poor animal fell, Olaf rolled over its 
head to the ground. In a few minutes more he 
must fall into the hands of the Indians. But at 
this crisis of affairs the soldiers turned and fired. 
The two nearest braves tumbled on the prairie. 
But one of the others was fast approaching the 


198 THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

place where Olaf had just gotten on his feet. 
Samuel had seen his friend’s misfortune and 
quickly galloped up to him. ‘‘Jump on behind 
me, quick,” he cried, and in a second Olaf was 
riding off with his rescuer. But the bold Indian in 
the lead of his companions twanged his bow and 
sent an arrow through both boys, pinning them 
together on the horse. But they kept their seats 
long enough to get up to the soldiers. There they 
both fainted from loss of blood and excitement, and 
fell into the arms of the men. While the Indians 
were now driving off some of the cattle, the soldiers 
withdrew to secure a surgeon for the wounded boys. 
This took some time, during which they recovered 
consciousness. Soon also they began to suffer 
smarting pains. The men feared the arrows had 
been poisoned, but said nothing about it. When 
they came up with the main body, the battle was 
about to begin. The surgeon soon pulled out the 
arrow and extricated the boys from their painful 
position. They were now made pretty comfort- 
able under a temporary awning, that was spread 
over them to shield them from the annoying rays 
of the sun. Firing was now heard about half a 
mile off. 

The Indians had arranged themselves on the 
hills, with their tepees and goods in the basin be- 


THE BATTLE. 


199 


hind them. Having thus unexpectedly been 
driven to bay, they presented a formidable battle 
array. But our men were eager for the fray. The 
bugles for attack were sounded. On rushed the 
cavalry. The Indians fired but one volley, and 
then flew down the sides of the hills into the basin. 
A goodly number however bit the dust. Some 
rushed up the other side and sent a shower of 
arrows upon our troops. But the boys in blue, 
hotly, yet in good order, followed them into the 
basin, Canon Jack leading. The citizen-volunteers 
also followed. Mr. Bender now saw a chief falling 
from an iron-gray horse, and the noble animal, as 
if anxious to leave uncongenial company, came 
running toward the white men. It was Tom. 
His old master easily caught him by calling his 
name. But where was Tib? Meanwhile down 
in the basin, the Indians were trying to remove 
their squaws, and, among them, two white women 
were descried. The poor souls were refusing to be 
pulled away ; they wished to fall into the bands 
of the white men. But on came the soldiers, now 
and then one of them being shot down or losing 
his horse. Canon Jack, with his long hair stream- 
ing in the air, hatless, and his eyes flashing fire, 
is rushing on tov/ard the white women. The 
Indians see what he is after. Not being able to 


200 


THE SECRET OF THE CA^ON, 


drag their victims off and yet determinded not to 
give them up alive, two braves are just drawing 
out their knives to kill them. Canon Jack cries 
out in the Sioux language, “Release those white 
squaws!’’ But before his words were really out 
of his mouth he fired. One uplifted arm dropped 
and a young woman came running toward the 
scout. But the other Indian plunged his knife 
into the older woman’s breast. Before he had 
time to draw it out, he had a bullet in his heart, 
and rolled upon the ground clutching the gramma 
grass. The soldiers now were masters of the field, 
but still eager to secure all the fruits of victory, 
they chased the scattering redskins from hill to 
hill, until late in the afternoon. All their provi- 
sions, dried buffalo-meat and blankets, thousands 
of tanned buffalo-robes, arms, and tepees were 
taken by our troops, and mostly destroyed by 
making a bonfire of them. Thus the backbone of 
the uprising was broken, and this proved the last 
Indian raid of any importance in Nebraska. 

The surgeons took tender care of the wounded 
woman. Her companion called her mother and 
was fanning her with a soldier’s hat when Colonel 
Holman came to see how the wounded heroine 
was doing. “May I ask your name?” asked he 
kindly. 


THE BATTLE. 


201 


“ My name is Rush, sir, and this is my 
daughter,” and the sufferer burst into fresh tears. 
“Soldier, I can not thank you enough.” 

“ How did you get among the Indians? ” 

“Why, sir, some few years ago, in ’64, I was 
coming out with my husband and child for the 
mines, and east of here somewhere the Indians 
killed all the men and my husband too, and they 
took Carrie and me prisoners. We have been 
among them ever since ; but I had determined to 
die to-day rather than stay any longer.” 

An ambulance was now brought up and Mrs. 
Rush was lifted into it so tenderly by the men that 
she ever afterwards called them her “boys.” She 
did not know that every one of them was thinking 
of his own mother. Under less sad circumstances 
any one would have noticed a very beautiful girl in 
Carrie Rush. She was in Indian costume, with 
her hair streaming down her back. Canon Jack 
alighted from his steed, held out his hand, told her 
to step into it, and lifted her into his saddle and 
walked himself alongside of her. 

The men were now burying the dead and carry- 
ing away the wounded. A number of prisoners 
had been taken. Among them was a chief on 
Tib, but he was soon dismounted. Mr. Bender 
was perhaps the happiest man on the battle field. 
As yet he did not know the misfortune of his boy. 


202 


THE SECRET OE THE CAFiON. 


It being now nearly night, the troops went into 
camp, to rest for the return on the morrow. Many 
mourned the death of dear comrades. Many were 
groaning on account of painful wounds. Some 
were guarding the prisoners. Samuel and Olaf 
were resting quietly. The surgeons were hopeful 
for them. Carrie Rush was doing all she could 
for their comfort. She felt as though every 
wounded man was suffering for her. But at last 
she knelt down by her mother’s bed, which con- 
sisted of blankets laid on the warm ground. A 
tallow candle stuck in the shank of a bayonet shone 
upon her face. Beautiful in its care-worn look was 
that face. The kind eyes rested upon the pale 
mother until they closed in sleep. For some 
reason the scout came to see the wounded woman. 
They were both sleeping. Why does he stand 
there with folded arms gazing as though he could 
not leave the spot ? A spell of some kind seems to 
keep him there. 

There was a great jubilation in Canon City when 
the victorious army returned. But the happiest 
family v/as that of the Benders. Though saddened 
by Samuel’s wound, his mother was thankful that 
his life had been spared and that he suffered be- 
cause he saved his friend. She also secretly fos- 
tered the wish that she might hear no more from 


THE battle. 


203 


him about leaving home. In this she was not 
disappointed. He was thoroughly cured of his 
roving-fever. It never returned. 

Toni and Tib looked as though they had not 
lately eaten much grain. But their welcome home 
w^as complete. The children hugged and kissed 
their necks for joy. They soon were hitched up 
again and every drive with them was like a picnic. 
No treasures are fully appreciated until they have 
once been lost. 

Samuel and Olaf naturally now were heroes of 
the place. Some were slow to believe their stor}^ 
But they had plenty of witnesses among the soldiers 
to corroborate it. This remarkable incident of 
their lives is recorded in the history of Ne- 
braska, where the skeptical may still read it for 
themselves. 

Among the captives of this battle was “ Bloody 
Hand,” the squaw who had revealed the where- 
abouts of Mrs. Rush and her daughter, and who 
had informed the military authorities of the coming 
out-break. The latter act her tribe never discov- 
ered. Her motive was revenge. Consequently, at 
the opening of the battle she and her husband were 
discovered in a pit on a sand-bank, which com- 
manded the oncoming troops. There she was load- 
ing two carbines for her husband, as fast as he 


204 the secret of the canon. 

could fire, and eagerly watching the conflict. Her 
one hope had been in the melee to discover ex- 
mayor Snide and to make his white squaw a widow. 
In this she was mistaken. Men who live for self 
alone are never found in a patriotic army fighting 
for home and country. They are too well satisfied 
to let others do that for them. Consequently poor 
“Bloody Hand,” in addition to her other sorrows, 
lost her Indian husband besides in this conflict. He 
fell bleeding at her feet. But those who knew her 
usefulness to the army saw to it that she was not 
taken with her tribe to an eastern reservation. She 
and her boy, as well as his adopted sister, were 
given the liberty of the wide prairies. The late war- 
rior’s ponies and guns and tepee were granted her. 

She had a great interest in the “ Pale Warrior,” 
as she called Canon Jack. He had induced some 
of his friends to replenish her commissary depart- 
ment. In giving him good-bye she mysteriously 
lifted up her hands before him and half chanted in 
her broken English : “ I go back to setting sun. 

No happy moons for me more. My path, it is wet 
by the rains of my tears. When the Pale Warrior 
stand in his tent-door, and the white squaw, when 
the mother is well, sit within, and lift a song by the 
camp-fire, then Bloody Hand will not be far from 
his thoughts, maybe.” 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE HUNT. 

Without going through the same mill, it is 
difficult to realize the experience of a man who 
suddenly finds his occupation gone. This now 
was the case of Canon Jack. Indian warfare in 
these parts being ended, there was no more use for 
scouts. As forerunners of civilization they had 
been indispensable. Our nation owes them a 
great deal for their heroic and useful services. 
There were times when the fate of armies de- 
pended upon their genius and bravery. Their 
words of warning saved many lives on the frontier. 
They were the eyes and ears, and the early tele- 
phones of the prairie, never-failing sources and 
vehicles of intelligence to our moving armiOvS. 
The red man reverenced while he feared them. 
While he always loved to follow their trail and to 
give them chase, he never, except cautiously, 
ventured too near their guns. Unless it was to his 
advantage to do otherwise, he kept a respectful 
distance between himself and the flying battery of 
the plains. Even an Indian valued his own life. 
(205) 


206 


'HE SECRET OE THE CANON. 


But just now the enemy was corralled. The 
war-dance was ended. The paint of Mars had 
been washed off with blood. The drum of the 
medicine-man, or Indian prophet, and the chant- 
ing of dusky maidens by the camp-fire, were silent. 
The bugles no longer called to arms and the 
regulars were dying of ennui. The tread-mill 
routine of life in a fort had no charm for the 
veteran. To him it was unbearably irksome. 
“Dog’s life! Dog’s life!” was the common reply 
to those who made inquiries concerning it. All 
began to long that their terms might expire. At 
last they counted even the days that yet remained. 
Few, very few, cared to re-enlist. The most sought 
to enter business or some other form of activity in 
civil life, for no healthy human soul can be con- 
tent with mere existence. 

Under these circumstances, although the term of 
his enlistment had not expired. Canon Jack, having 
secured a furlough, granted the request of Dr. 
Porter and some eastern sportsmen to accompany 
them on a hunting expedition. It would be a form 
of employment and an exhilarating recreation. 
They would traverse the plains and penetrate into 
the Rockies, and thus meet the elk, deer, wolf, 
mountain lion, buffalo, and bear in their native 
haunts. Great preparation was made for the enter- 


THE HUNT. 


207 


prise. As part of the route lay in a country with 
which he himself was not very familiar, Canon 
Jack induced Cowboy Jim to join the expedition. 
With the skins he might secure he could make the 
trip pay. Besides, he was only fairly recovered 
from his wound. He still was weak and pale. An 
outing on the plains during the beautiful month 
of October would give him color and brawn, besides 
developing in him that sense of manhood which 
in his present state of mind he also needed. In 
grace he still was a mere child. 

Mr. Kuhl at first thought he would not have time 
to go with them, but finally could not say no. Hence 
a full dozen mounted men, with no more impedi- 
ments, or camp-equipage, than absolutely was nec- 
essary, rode out of Canon City to follow for a few 
months the calling of civilized barbarians. At the 
Fort they crossed the Platte on a rickety military 
bridge that then spanned it. Without incident they 
reached North Platte, where the railroad bridge was 
not yet in a condition for pedestrians and riders to 
pass over. Hence they forded the river. Without 
a pause the men spurred their horses and plunged 
into the water. 

The stream, on account of the melting of early 
snows on the Rockies, was muddy and turbulent, 
and swollen to its brim. Under similar circum- 


2o8 


THE SECRET OF THE CAl^ON. 


stances the year before a number of cavalry-men 
were drowned here. Canon Jack knew the ford 
well. But the heavy sand-filled current was stronger 
than usual. Soon his swimming horse veered down 
stream. The rest followed in his wake. Fully 
aware of what the terrible consequences might be, 
hoping to touch bottom, he alighted in mid-stream, 
thinking he could thus better turn his horse, or at 
least help him to reach the other shore. 

Alas! what he was fearing most was the very 
thing that happened. He stepped into quick-sand. 
When he discovered the treacherous man-trap, ac- 
cording to custom and river-craft instruction, he 
began to move his feet as quickly as he could. 
This process kept him from sinking. But he soon 
exhausted his strength in the herculean effort, in 
which heavy spurred boots and leather pantaloons 
were only a hindrance. Finding that his horse 
would pull him over into the water and even under 
it, rather than out of it, he let go the reins. The 
freed animal now swam off in a slanting course 
toward the opposite side. But the scout plainly 
was gradually sinking and surrendering to the 
dreadful odds that were against him. He was 
helpless. The worst was, his alarmed companions 
could not get near him. Some lost all presence of 
mind and concerned themselves only for their own 


THE HUNT. 


209 


lives. The whole scene soon became one of utter 
confusion. Struggling, plunging, snorting horses 
and frantic men for a moment formed a swirling 
mass in the angry waters and shifting sands. But 
several of them kept cool heads. One of these was 
Cowboy Jim. If, when he started, any one had 
asked him why he had placed a lariat on the 
pummel of his saddle, he could hardly have given 
a good reason for it. Such was his habit. Every 
man can use his own weapon best, and his now 
served Jim’s purpose well. Standing up in his 
stirrups, he gracefully poised the coiled rope in 
the air and with sure aim flung it out. The loop 
fell over Canon Jack’s head, one end tightening 
under his arm, the other on his neck, and thus, as 
he had often before caught steers and buffaloes, as 
well as wild unbroken horses, Cowboy Jim caught 
and pulled his friend from his perilous position, 
and saved him from a mysterious grave in the 
quick-sands of the dangerous Platte. The whole 
party reached the south bank in safety. Here they 
halted for the night and repaired such damages as 
the flood had caused them. 

They found the frontier-town in an uproar. 
Some cowboys had come in from the surrounding 
ranches and imbibed too freely of adulterated 
liquor. They became boisterous and meddlesome. 

14 


210 


THE SECRET OF THE CANON. 


A well-dressed gentleman ran into a hardware store 
to buy a few pounds of nails. When he came out 
the package fell down on the board-walk. The 
cowboys began firing at it from the opposite side of 
the street and scattered the nails in all directions. 
The helpless citizen could only look on in patient 
silence. Next they rode about the streets as fast 
as their broncos could go, and lariated all the ladies 
they could find. This was too much for human 
nature. The authorities formed a posse of mounted 
men and gave the disturbers of the peace chase. 
They arrested those that surrendered by throwing 
up their hands, but two tried to escape by crossing 
the river. These were shot at by their pursuers on 
the edge, until both were killed. The hunting 
party considered this an altogether unjustifiable act 
of homicide. In their better moments the citizens 
regretted it, and this was the last incident of the 
kind that happened in the history of the place. 
Civilizing and religious influences were here also 
getting the victory. There was a healthy reaction 
from the severity and brutality of primitive frontier 
justice. It no longer was a necessity. 

Early the next morning Canon Jack and his 
party started for Ogalalla. Here they entered into 
a contract with the builders of the Union Pacific 
railroad to furnish meat for the men. This gave a 


THE HUNT. 


2II 


new interest to their expedition, as it gave them a 
market for their game. They made a specialty of 
buffaloes, but while it was easy enough to kill them 
in sufficient quantities, it was laborious to drag the 
meat to head-quarters. This difficulty Canon Jack 
obviated by the novel plan of driving the herd 
among the shanties as live stock and shooting them 
among the cooks. This created quite a sensation 
and for a while diverted the men from their picks 
and shovels, for which the under-contractors berated 
the “ lazy pop-gunners,” as they called them. But 
the genius of the labor-saving device was applauded 
by the mechanics, who regarded the hunters “a 
clever set of rustlers.” 

But in a few weeks this episode was at an end 
and our party plunged into unorganized territory. 
They traveled north, until they reached the Platte 
again. Here they encamped for the night. On the 
other side of the river they descried a man who had 
already lighted a fire apparently for a similar pur- 
pose. He was turning his field-glass towards them. 
He evidently meant to study the character of these 
strangers. He would not enter into any confiden- 
tial relations before he had reason to do so. With 
his usual interest in every human object, the scout 
turned the focus of his glass upon the man and then 
handed it to Jim, who declared, “That stranger’s 


213 


THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 


hung out a white flag.” “No,” said Jack, “that’s 
his shirt; it’s his washing-day. But let’s hang out 
a signal too. What have we of a white color?” It 
happened that they had nothing. “Why does that 
feller have a white shirt fer ; he must be a tender- 
foot,” remarked Jim. “No,” replied Jack, is a 
gentleman,” and looked at the rest with a wink. 
“It appears accordin’ to you, people that have no 
white — no linen — are not gentlemen,” drolly said 
Jim, without removing the glass from his eyes. 
Then all began to wave their hats and to shout to 
the stranger to come over. Having become satisfied 
that it w^as safe to do so, he began to make prepa- 
rations to ford the stream, which here was not above 
an eighth of a mile wide. The men were interested 
ill the experiment. They all vividly recalled their 
own late experience. They all stood on the river’s 
edge to watch the forder. He got on his bronco 
and rode into the middle of the stream. There, for 
some reason, he fell off the saddle and disappeared. 
A cry of alarm escaped from his generous sympa- 
thizers on the other side. A few ran for their horses 
to rush to the rescue. As usual Jim was ready to 
spring in with his lasso. But when the men were 
elevated on their steeds, they discovered that the 
man was following in the wake of his horse in the 
stream. Was he also swimming ? If so, he must 


THE HUNT. 


213 


be a remarkable natator. On he comes. As he ap- 
proaches the shore, they see that he is clinging to 
his bronco’s tail! The animal had stumbled over a 
small quicksand and thus thrown off his rider, who 
caught on to the first object he could grasp. When 
the dripping man reached the hunters, they laughed 
and shouted in hearty style. But the surprise of a 
few can be imagined, when they saw that it was 
Mr. Weissman. Baughing himself, he crawled out 
of the water, saying, “Well, gentlemen, this is one 
way of crossing the river. How would you like it ?’ ’ 
Jim and Jack extended their hands and pulled him 
on his feet. Dr. Porter came forward and intro- 
duced the rest, who did not know him. 

“Why, what in the world are you doing here?” 
asked three at a time, as they began to aid him in 
changing his clothing. 

“I am going home — home to Canon City. I 
would not have crossed here, but I am not sure 
where I am, and I thought you men could help me 
on the road. But this is my last trip, gentlemen. 
I am getting too old to rough it any longer.” 

“Well,” replied Canon Jack, “we can tell you 
where you must go to reach Canon City, but you 
may also tell us where we are going. We don’t 
know. This is a new range for us. ” 

“So this is also Terra Incognita to you, is it? 


214 the secret of the CAfJON. 

That is what I called it a few days ago. But on the 
other side, only about twenty miles up stream, is a 
wonderful city.” 

“ City ! ” interjected Jim, who had before roved 
over parts of the district, but who thought no 
white man ever had lived there. “ What be her 
name? ’’ 

The pioneer missionary paused, while all looked 
at him a little incredulously. “ Why, gentlemen,” 
continued he, “ day before yesterday it was so hot 
that I slept in the shade of a stray tree till late in 
the afternoon. Then I traveled as long as I could 
see, after which I rolled myself in my blanket and 
let my nag graze. Next morning, when I awoke, 
I found that I had been sleeping on the plat of a 
city, whose streets and blocks were nicely staked 
off. On one of them was written in large letters 
‘GOOSE TAKE CITY.’ I tell you, gentlemen, 
this is a great country. We have no creeks here, 
all are rivers ; and no towns, all are cities. I 
have no doubt some enterprising agent is selling 
lots in the east — Goose Lake lots — at a high figure. 
Of course, he will show a nice paper-plat, and the 
Americans like to be humbugged.” 

By this time the preacher’s garments had all 
been hung up to dry, and partly from his own, 
partly from the scanty wardrobe of the rest, he 


THE HUNT. 


215 


was rigged in a sufficiently grotesque suit indeed. 
Cowboy Jim was one of those frontiersmen who 
boasted of the distinction of owning only one shirt. 
But this he had quietly pulled off and handed it to 
the preacher. “My friend,” expostulated the 
man who never hinted at their acquaintance in the 
past, “ then you will have none.” “ My blouse ’ll 
do,” is all he said, with an air of genuine benevo- 
lence, which made Mr. Weissman feel that he 
would confer a favor by accepting the gift. His 
ministerial character being thus completely hidden 
under the garb of a frontiersman, he remarked, 
“Well, boys, I am a cowboy too.” Upon this 
Canon Jack asked him, “Don’t you think a cow- 
boy’s hat is as honorable as a clergyman’s 
cravat?” “That depends, in either case, upon the 
wearer,” quickly responded the missionary, add- 
ing, “The tailor and the hatter can not make a 
man.” This sally and repartee amused the rest 
and brought all upon good terms of friendship. 
Mr. Kuhl now twitted Mr. Weissman by asking 
him, “ Supposing we had here a heap of ministers, 
another of merchants, another of teachers, another 
of soldiers, another of cow-boys, and so on through 
all the vocations and occupations, which would be 
the best heap ? ’ ’ 

“Add yet,” replied Mr. Weissman, “a pile of 


2i6 


THE SECRET OF THE CANON. 


lawyers, and then I will ask you which is the 
worst?” This interrogation produced some 
laughter. But the preacher kept on, while he 
looked about on all, “Gentlemen, you are too 
many for me, but I will lead the forlorn hope by 
insisting that all would depend on the men, not on 
the calling ; but I think, as a rule, all your heaps 
would be alike.” 

By this time all were sitting or reclining about the 
camp-fire and Mr. Weissman, by common consent, 
was allowed to be the principal spokesman. Dr. 
Porter expressed the wish that he might stay with 
them and take part in the hunt. “ Ah, my beloved 
physician,” replied he within hearing of all, “I am 
a dandy marksman, a dead shot. My specialty is 
bears. Now listen! About a week ago, as I was 
coming down the mountains, I left my nag at a 
deserted shanty and went for some fresh meat. I 
always was told that I should not try to shoot a 
bear unless I had the advantage over him ; that, if 
possible, I should first climb a tree. But I was not 
looking for bears. I was not so ambitious. Imag- 
ine my surprise, when I almost stepped on five at 
once 1 They were just below me and only one 
small tree very close. Without looking whether it 
was great or small, I climbed it, when to my con- 
sternation it bent over and suspended me not more 


THE HUNT. 


217 


than five feet above those grizzlies ! There I hung, 
afraid to breathe, my heart in my throat, and not 
able, for fear of falling, to use my gun.’’ 

The eyes of all were fixed upon him. No one 
spoke. “I never was so near death, I suppose; 
yet I felt that somehow I should get out of my pre- 
dicament. But how? There was the rub. I kept 
perfectly still and quiet, and kept a steady gaze 
upon old Bruin. But I was getting tired. It became 
a serious question as to how long I could hold out. 
I knew I could not spend a night in that position. 
The bears did not seem to take the situation seri- 
ously. Several of them sniffed up toward me, 
looked puzzled, and walked away. But one old 
fellow lingered, as if he were studying the case and 
could not decide what to do with it. The shades of 
evening at last began to fall. Far away the wild 
child-like cry of a mountain-lion was heard. The 
bear pricked his ears. I now made up my mind 
that I would use the last rays of the day to aim at 
that surly scamp, let the consequences be what they 
would. They could not be worse, than if I tried 
to sit him out. Besides he might try to climb after 
me ! Just then, opportunely, a pack of wolves 
scampered through the gully below. Their sharp, 
intermittent barking once more attracted Bruin’s 
attention. Slowly, but looking back now and then. 


2i8 


THE SECRET OF THE CA5jON. 


he began to move down the hill. I waited until he 
was out of sight. Then I let myself off the tree ; 
it sprang into place. Not so my muscles. I was 
so weak that I could hardly hold my rifle. There, 
gentlemen, you can see what kind of a hunter I 
am. I guess you would have no use for me.” He 
looked around for a reply. 

“I’ll be swan,” ejaculated Cowboy Jim, “3^01* did 
as pert as any o’ us could.” 

“Yes,” said Canon Jack, “I do not believe any 
man would tackle five bears, unless they would 
stand up to be shot, and even then I would want a 
better tree. ’ ’ 

“Happily,” remarked Dr. Porter, “there were 
no cubs in the case, or you would not have escaped ; 
though the old fellow, who went off last, must 
have been a malignant man-eater. It is a wonder 
you got rid of him so easily.” 

Thus the conversation drifted on until a few 
began to snore. All those who had had experiences 
on the plains took pleasure in relating them. But 
as they would have filled a book, we cannot relate 
them here. 

At last Mr. Weissman said, “Well, gentlemen, I 
am going to roll into my blanket. I shall sleep 
better for being with you. Good night. God 
bless you all, and sweet be your sleep. You all 


THE HUNT. 


219 


deserve a good rest for your kindness to me.” And 
he sought his berth under the open sky, where 
several overheard him praying. The good man 
seemed to fall asleep while conversing with God. 
As a matter of fact he had not for years felt so 
happy. 

By sunrise next morning all in camp were astir. 
Mess was served and the horses prepared for the 
journey. When Mr. Weissman was ready to leave 
his friends, he shook the hand of each in sincere 
good-bye. He felt that these sons of the plains 
were the kind of men he sometimes liked to lean 
against. They would never forsake a fellow- 
mortal in distress. The rest had noticed that early 
in the morning the minister had sought Cowboy 
Jim and held a private conversation with him. 
When all the others had ridden off, the missionary 
was still holding Jim by one hand and resting the 
other upon the cowboy’s shoulder. A deep secret 
was kept between them, and Jim was grateful. 
According to his own notions he was trying to do 
better. As he expressed it, “ I feel kind ’o like as 
if I’d oughter die fer somebody.” But he could 
not muster enough courage to tell Mr. Weissman 
anything of his suspicions concerning the grave 
in the saloon-cellar. Besides, Canon Jack had 
warned him not as yet to do so. But the minister 


220 


THE SECRET OF THE CANON. 


told him of a happy discovery he had made, and 
which had rolled half his troubles off his heart. 
He had found one of his boys. 

Jim now had to ride after his companions. He 
did so with certain indefinable, holy emotions. 
When he reached the last elevation from which he 
could sight Mr. Weissman, he followed an impulse 
to stop and to look back. The missionary also 
had stopped and was waving his hat. They were 
a mile apart, but Jim saluted with his broad 
sombrero and said aloud, “ God bless ye, old man ; 
mayhap ye’ll never see Cowboy Jim agin.” And, 
for the first time in many years, tears began to roll 
down his weather-worn cheeks. Slowly he turned 
his horse upon the trail. The minister watched 
him until he disappeared behind the sand-hills. 
Then he also turned his horse, but toward the 
opposite direction, ejaculating “O God, save that 
soul !” 

Of course neither could hear the other, but by a 
mysterious telepathy the feelings of each seemed 
to be communicated to the other. At least, Cow- 
boy Jim fell into a deep reverie. He rode along as 
one in a dream. Not until he caught sight of his 
companions did he seem fully awake. Then he 
once more soliloquized, “Mother, I’m cornin’. 
Your prars are heerd. I see ye on your death-bed 


THE PIUNT. 


221 


now. If ye were on artli, I’d jiiie ye. But ye are 
in heaven, an’ I’m cornin’. Mother, I’m cornin’. 
Pray fer yer Jim — yer boy that onct forgot, but 
now remembers all.” 

When he came up to the rest, those who knew 
him well noticed that he had been mentally 
agitated and that his eyes had been reddened by 
tears. But no one said anything about it. Every 
one soon became absorbed in a herd of antelope 
which had been sighted to the southward. 

There are a great many people who in health 
and prosperity do not feel the need of religion. 
God is not in their thoughts. The teachings of 
pious mothers are forgotten. Frequently they 
plunge into the worst excesses and lead the wildest 
lives. But finally the day of repentance comes. 
Religion becomes the absorbing topic. The 
whole character undergoes a violent revolution. 
Often in a crude and brusque manner, with much 
more zeal thau knowledge, such men become the 
most earnest and energetic religious enthusiasts. 
The prodigals, disgusted with themselves and 
their former habits, return to the Father’s house, 
never to roam again. Of course, and sadly 
enough, this usually occurs late in life. But, 
better late than never. The West furnishes many 
cases of this kind. 


CHAPTER XVL 


AMONG THK BUTTES. 

Keeping themselves hidden on hills to wind- 
ward, one part waiting in ambush, while part sur- 
rounded them, the hunters successfully “rounded 
up” the antelopes and secured quite a number 
as prizes. As they now had a sufficient supply 
for a number of days, they did not look for other 
game, but kept on their journey. Having con- 
sidered themselves the only human beings now in 
those regions, all were one day greatly surprised 
by seeing an Indian boy riding down a buffalo and 
driving an arrow through him, so that the shaft’s 
head came out on the other side. The little fellow 
was so preoccupied in his work, that he did not 
notice the men, until they were almost on him. 
His pony however did, and had tried to run away, 
but he had checked him. But when he espied 
the hunters, he also was ready to fly. As he 
was almost surrounded, escape was almost im- 
possible. But he would have tried it, if Canon 
Jack had not called to him in the Indian tongue to 
(222) 


AMONG THE BUTTES. 


223 


stop. This assured him, as he recognized the 
speaker. It was Wapokoneta, the son of Bloody 
Hand. When the men drew near he told them 
that he and his mother had their tepee only a mile 
away, along the river, but that they would have 
nothing to eat until he should bring meat home. 
A band of thieving Cheyennes, enemies of his 
tribe, had robbed them of all their provisions and 
his rifles. They would have taken his pony also, 
but he had escaped with him across the stream. 
The men were interested in Wapokoneta’ s story, 
and, after skinning the buffalo that he had just 
killed and cutting off the quarters, they asked him 
to lead the way to his tepee. This he did, and 
when they reached it every man was moved by the 
sorrowful squaw’s lamentations. Almost famished, 
she pressed to her bosom Soft Eyes, her dead sis- 
ter’s little girl whom she had adopted, and was 
weirdly chanting the widow’s lament, rocking to 
and fro with the measure of the music. The 
hunters gave her food and tried to cheer her up. 
Although several of them had once been in danger 
of the bullets which she had put into her hus- 
band’s rifles, none of them could have treated a 
sister better. 

From her they learned the important fact that a 
band of thirty young restless warriors had ab- 


224 'i'he secret of the ca5jon. 

sconded from a reservation and were now hiding 
among the buttes, from which they sometimes 
sallied forth to steal and plunder. Canon Jack 
immediately made up his mind that the authorities 
could not be aware of this nest of bandits. Heuce 
he proposed to the company that inasmuch as they 
would henceforth be in constant danger anyway, 
they should move southward toward Ft. Faramie, 
which he judged to be perhaps a hundred miles in 
that direction. They could hunt on their way to 
inform the authorities of what they had learned. 
Cowboy Jim also assured them that as soon as they 
would sight a certain mountain he could lead them 
directly to the Fort. He would then be on old 
stamping-ground. All agreed that this would be 
the best plan to pursue. The fact was, the east- 
erners were ready for anything that promised to 
take them away from the Indians. “ But we must 
first care for this friendly squaw, who, no doubt, 
saved many lives by giving warning of the in- 
tended capture of Ft. McPherson. It was her in- 
formation that made it possible for us to surprise 
the red skins at the Bloody Pocket. Perhaps 
every one of us owes his life to her now. We were 
not looking for the enemy here, and could easily 
have been ambuscaded. What shall we do with 
her? As for that smart boy, I think I’ll adopt 


AMONG THE BUTTES. 225 

him.” It was Canon Jack who spoke. All the 
rest were afraid he would counsel to take her with 
them. As they did not want to do this, they were 
quiet. lyooking around he continued, “I advise 
that we supply her with enough provisions and tell 
her to return to Ft. McPherson, and that we give 
her a letter to the commandant, Colonel Holman, 
recommending her to his care until we return. I 
think she has deserved a pension from Uncle 
Sam.” To this all consented. 

All arrangements having been made accordingly, 
the old spirit of the scout again took possession of 
Canon Jack. He became as alert and cautious as 
ever. He gave minute directions to the men. 
First, all the horses’ feet must be wrapped in bags, 
pieces of blankets, or any kind of rags, so as to 
hide their trail. The Indians must not know in 
which direction they went. Although they would 
likely meet plenty of water on the route, they 
might not have it just when they wanted it. 
Hence every bottle and canteen was filled with the 
“lemonade of the Platte.” If Canon Jack would 
have had a trained dozen Indian fighters, or 
regulars, with him, he would have taken the 
aggressive against the renegades. But he did not 
trust the soldiers he had under him just now. 
Hence he took the defensive. 

15 


226 


THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 


Though but a few hours of the day remained, 
after starting the squaw and her household east- 
ward, the scout leaped into his saddle and gave the 
command to march southward. That night they 
slept in a desert place, but without incident. The 
next evening they reached a solitary butte that 
stood like a sentinel in the wilderness. It was a 
natural turret with three terraces, capped by a 
cone-shaped cupola. Dr. Porter thought that 
he had never seen a more striking object in na- 
ture. The rest did not think of its relation to 
science, but looked upon it as affording a natural 
fortification, in case they should be attacked by 
the Indians. As soon as a halt was made a few of 
the hunters scaled it. The view from its summit 
commanded the entire region as far as the eye 
could carry its vision. Tittle patches of timber 
began to appear. Cowboy Jim exultingly pointed 
towards Pike’s Peak, and declared he now was at 
home, that this was the Butte of the Cross, or like 
it. He had at least seen it often before. This 
assertion inspired all with confidence. They felt 
that they were not lost. When Canon Jack as- 
cended the second terrace with his glass, he dis- 
covered a rider about a mile or so away — evidently 
a white man. He determined to make a recon- 
noissance. Having stationed Mr. Kuhl on the peak 


AMONG THE BUTTES. 


227 


of the butte to signal to him, after the manner of 
surveyors, watching the rider and telling the scout 
when to turn to the right or left, he and Cowboy 
Jim galloped in the direction of the unknown 
equestrian. They soon found him at an old 
deserted, broken-down cabin. He wore the habit 
of a cowboy. He manifested no surprise and 
seemed to be inspecting the ruin, when they hailed 
him. When they approached, he called out ‘‘ Hello, 
strangers. I was looking for a different crowd.’’ 

“ But I hope you are not sorry to see us,” said 
the scout alighting. 

“To be sure, we be friends,” added Jim, keeping 
his seat on the horse. 

Glancing at them sharply for a moment and ex- 
tending his hand to each, the frontiersman, with 
the air of one who is spurring his powers of 
recollection, said, “I believe you are friends, and 
old ones at that. You are John Mackintosh, and 
you are James Tawson.” 

“Yes,” replied Canon Jack, “those are the 
names our good mothers gave us, but we hardly 
know ourselves by them any more. How do you?” 
Here Jack noticed that Jim’s eyes filled with tears. 

“I,” responded the stranger, “I am John F. — ” 

“Weissman,” quickly added Canon Jack, “well, 
John, I can not tell you how happy I am to see 


228 


THE SECRET OF THE CAfJON. 


you. Give us your hand again. But you must 
remember, you were but a mere boy when I last 
saw you. You have changed wonderfully. That’s 
the reason I hardly knew you, especially in that 
cowboy suit.” 

“ Well, I recognized you mostly by your voice, 
and Mr. Tawson by one expression, though it is not 
so very many years since I saw him out in these 
diggings.” 

“Now, John, I must write your father that you 
are alive. He is scouring the country for you. 
Poor old man, we met him only about a week ago. 
Of course he is not aware that I know you.” 

“ Oh, that is the reason he did not tell you he 
saw me. I gave him the bronco he was riding. I 
wanted him to stay with me till I could go along, 
but he was anxious to go for my mother, who wants 
to come west. Then he is going to hunt for my 
brother George, though I am afraid he will never 
see him again.” 

Here Jack and Jim exchanged glances, and the 
latter interjected, “ Yer father told me as how he 
had seed ye.” He stopped, for fear he might say 
more. 

“Say,” began Jack again, “how did your par- 
ents lose track of you ? It has puzzled some of us. ’ ’ 

“Well, I will tell you in a nut-shell. I have a 


AMONG THE BUTTES. 


229 


letter in my trunk which informed me of my 
father’s and my mother’s death. George and I 
were together then, and we had no reason to doubt 
it. This is a strange world, you know. The 
letter of course, is a forgery. But facts are stranger 
than fiction. Some years ago I led a company of 
cowboys in defending and delivering a stage-coach, 
on which my father was a passenger, from the In- 
dians. In that brush I received a scratch on my 
arm here. Afterwards he saved my life in this old 
shanty in which I was snow-bound while prospect- 
ing for yellow dirt. I was almost starved and 
delirious with a fever, when I was startled one day 
by a man and a pony breaking down through that 
very roof, as you see it now. What happened after- 
wards, I don’t know. He dragged me through the 
snow to the ranch, which I now manage, and there 
I was nursed back to life. But he did not know 
I was his son until, I understand, our friend here 
told him.” 

“ So I did, when he was so kind as to visit me, 
when I was shot,” said Jim. 

“ Then he came after me, and I found him out on 
the prairie one night,” said John Weissman. 

“But where is George?” inquired the scout, 
warily looking about. 

“Dead, I suppose.” 


230 the secret of the caRon. 

At this point the scout suddenly sprang into the 
saddle. He had heard an unmistakable sound — 
the piercing, high-pitched yell of red savages. 

“ Come with us, John,” he said, as he and Jim 
rode off. 

“Where are you going?” he asked, “why not 
come to our ranch? It is only ten miles away.” 

“ To our company,” laconically replied the scout. 

This was the first intimation the ranch-manager 
had that Jack and Jim were not alone. His first 
thought was the duty he owed to his charge, but 
instinctively he followed his companions. When 
the three came near enough to see the base of the 
butte, where the camp had been pitched, they dis- 
covered that a cordon of Indians was surrounding 
it. Almost recklessly he signaled to the be- 
leaguered men, “ All right.” This gave them fresh 
courage. They had imagined that he had been 
killed. After circling around a few times, during 
which they lost several of their horses, the band 
withdrew, either to feign retreat and thus lead the 
pale-faces into ambush, or to hold a council. At 
any rate. Canon Jack took advantage of the pause 
by plunging the rowels into his horse’s sides and 
rushing to his comrades. Unthinkingly, John 
Weissman followed him and Cowboy Jim. He 
should have gone for aid, but in such a case 


AMONG THK BUTTKS. 


231 


hindsight usually is clearer than foresight Upon 
their arrival a shout went up from the hunters. 
They considered their rescue at hand, but they were 
mistaken. Many immediately advised to make a 
rush to Weissman’s headquarters. But Canon 
Jack told them that was the rashest tiling they 
could do. “These rascals,” said he, “have scat- 
tered over the plain, and if we make the attempt, 
their sentinels will concentrate the whole force on 
us, and that will mean fight to the finish. We 
must stay here for the present, that’s all, and I fear 
the vermin intend to starve us out.” He spoke 
more warmly than usual. He then ordered the 
men to get ready and to feign a dash for liberty. 
This succeeded, as the scout expected, in drawing 
all the savages upon the hills and to make another 
dash for the butte, this time to stampede the horses. 
Wisely did the scout order half the men to hold 
them while the other half, with John Weissman as 
an ally fighting on his own score, took their posi- 
tion on the first terrace. But though the battle 
lasted half an hour, they suceeded in rolling only 
one Indian on the dry grass. The wild riders hung 
to the sides of their ponies, so that nothing but one 
foot and part of an arm were visible, save that the 
head bobbed up when they fired. The only casual- 
ity among the whites was that Mr. Kuhl had three 


232 thk secret of the caRon. 

of his fingers and a thumb shot off. Two horses 
were killed, and a number wounded. Night now 
came on and the Indians withdrew. Again the 
men urged a dash for liberty, but their leader re- 
minded them of what had happened. He ended 
his reasons against such a hazardous undertaking 
by remarking, “You have a sleepless enemy to 
deal with, gentlemen, and it is to their interest to 
scalp every one of us. Dead men, you know, can 
give no testimony against them. Remember that. ^ ’ 
The logic was effective. 

By this time every one silently accepted the 
gravity of the situation. But now it was that 
Cowboy Jim began to speak. He volunteered to 
dash through the line alone and go to Ft. Taramie 
for soldiers. He could make the trip during the 
night. The distance was forty miles. “To- 
morrow night,” said he, “the regulars could be 
here. My nag’s the bossiest in the lot, ye know. 
All the blame’s on myself, to be sure.” 

Canon Jack would not consent to let him risk 
his life. But he insisted. At last, with the 
understanding that he assumed all responsibility 
in the matter, it was agreed he might try it. That 
evening the crescent moon shone until nine 
o’clock. By that time Jim was ready for his dar- 
ing and perilous ride. When he was about to leap 


AMONG THE BUTTES. 


233 


into the saddle he asked, “ Men, are there one here 
that kin pray? Pray all of ye. Ye may never see 
poor sinful Jim agin. But if I turn up my toes, 
brothers, it’ll be fer ye. If I kin. I’ll rescue ye, 
but I may jine my mother on the golden trail — in 
the new Jeruserlem.” There the brave man stood 
waiting. Half the men were skeptics in religion. 
They could not consistently say anything. But 
never before did they feel so utterly disinclined to 
mock. A few were Nicodemus Christians. Dr. 
Porter, filled with unbounded admiration for the 
unlettered simple-hearted child of nature, who was 
so self-sacrificingly taking his life into his hands 
for the sake of others, could no longer repress his 
feelings. To such an honest and earnest appeal he 
must respond. So he said, “Jim, I can not pray 
much, but I will pray for you.” He offered a 
short and simple petition for the hero. He ended 
with the Lord’s Prayer, in which four or five joined. 
Then, after silently pressing the doctor’s hand, 
upon which he felt a hot tear falling, Jim grace- 
fully stepped into the saddle, said ‘ ‘ Good night to 
ye all,” and rode away into the darkness. The 
next five minutes were a time of painful suspense 
on the butte. Then a number of flashes were seen, 
a number of reports of guns and the pit-pit of 
horses’ hoofs were heard. But only for a few mo- 


234 SECRET OF THE CAi^ON. 

ments. Then unrelieved gloom and silence 
reigned again. Did he get through ? Is he safe ? 
Ah, there was no sleep on the butte that night. 
When morning came the plain showed no signs of 
life. The only indication by which Canon Jack 
could judge that Jim had successfully broken 
through was the fact that by noon the savages 
drew their lines closer. They evidently seemed 
preparing to make a desperate effort to gain their 
end before help could arrive. To disconcert the 
enemy, the scout during the day ordered the men 
to rendezvous at several points about the foot of the 
butte, first here, then there. He thus made the im- 
pression that he intended to draw out their fire to 
discover their weak point and there to make a 
break. This ruse succeeded. The Indians were 
kept too vigilant to concentrate anywhere. As 
long as the beleaguered pale-faces did not move, or 
rather moved from place to place, the enemy did 
not know where to strike. That day among the 
buttes was a hot and a long one. The horses were 
suffering for want of water. Happily the men 
as yet had enough, but the canteens were fast be- 
coming empty. To insure a reserve of provisions, 
they lived on the flesh of their dead horses. 
Doubt, fear, hope, and despair alternately held the 
scepter of the heart. It was agreed by all in a 


AMONG THE BUTTES. 


235 


council of war, that, unless troops arrived by mid- 
night, a desperate dash for liberty would be made. 
Every man prepared to sell his life dearly. Again 
the query rose, “What was the fate of Jim last 
night?” They would soon know. Midnight 
came, but no troops. Canon Jack, who for two 
hours had not spoken a word, now coolly gave the 
command to get ready. He placed the riders in 
twos, and those v/ho had to ride double in the rear. 
There were twelve men for ten horses. The scout 
patted his horse and spoke a few tender words to 
him. Eess nervously he had never stepped upon 
the stirrup. “ Ready !” He spoke the word with- 
out a tremor. But hark ! Shouting and the clank- 
ing of scabbards, and the rattling of shod hoofs! 
“Men, we are safe! Quick, Porter, light a signal 
on the butte. All fire your guns once !” As 
quickly as he said it, it was done. The report of 
their concerted shooting reverberated among the 
distant buttes, and the flash of their Are revealed 
their camping-place. Soon the cracking of car- 
bines was heard. Next the noise of galloping- 
cavalrymen, and then the salute of comrades. First 
of all came Cowboy Jim, with a shingled arm in a 
sling, and leaning on the neck of his horse. He 
could neither rise nor speak. Fainting from loss 
of blood, they lifted him out of his saddle, in which 


236 THE SECRET OF THE CARON. 

lie had lived the greater part of the last twenty- 
four hours. His friends soon learned that he had 
been wounded the night before. His left arm had 
been badly disabled. Yet he had reached lyaramie 
by daylight, and insisted on returning with the 
troopers. With his one arm in a sling he had led 
them forward to the rescue. But in this night 
melee he had received another bullet-wound in his 
right thigh. Gently he was carried to the first 
terrace of the butte. There Dr. Porter examined 
his wound and pronounced it very serious. 

The brave man was still unconscious. His pulse 
was weak, his breathing heavy. Sadly his com- 
rades looked into that wan face. Those pale feat- 
ures seemed to say, “I am dying for you.” The 
regulars going on guard-duty for the remainder of 
the night, his late companions had entire charge of 
him. Only the lieutenant who commanded them 
came now and then to see how he was faring. On 
one of these visits, the wounded man opened his 
eyes. As they rested upon the lieutenant a sweet 
smile stole over his lips. Reaching out his free 
hand, the soldier, who was a finely-built man with 
a heavy mustache, tenderly held it in his. ‘‘ My 
dear fellow, I hope you will pull through,” said 
he. 

Jim shook his head. “ I can never do enough 


AMONG THE BUTTES. 


237 


for you on account of wliat you told me to-day,” 
again spoke the army man. A smile once more lit 
up the countenance of the sufferer. By this time 
all his hunting companions were sympathetically 
standing about him, miserable because they could 
not do any more for him. Their coats already 
composed the soft bed on which he was lying. 
Waving his hand and looking intently on each 
face, he whispered, “ Good bye ! Good bye !” Al- 
most overcome with pent-up emotion, the scout 
knelt down beside him and took his hand. Jim 
drew it up to his lips and kissed it. Many turned 
away to hide their feelings. Jim whispered that 
the scout should bend down his head. He then 
told him something. The scout next brought up 
John Weissman and introduced him to the lieu- 
tenant. They clasped hands over the body of 
Jim. This pleased him exceedingly. He seemed 
the very picture of contentment. A happy smile 
once more illuminated his face, as he gazed upon 
the cowboy and the soldier. 

Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep. He did 
not wake again. When morning purpled the 
East, the so-called wild men of the West, with 
bared heads, came to take a last look at the face of 
Cowboy Jim — the only name by which most of 
them ever knew him. His dying smile remained, 


238 THE SECRET OF THE CANON. 

the smile with which, we trust, he greeted his 
beloved mother in the better world. 

With sabres and bayonets a grave was scraped 
in the butte. His body was wrapped in his 
blanket, and the unsung hero was buried with 
military honors. 

In an hour afterwards all who had horses were 
on the trail to punish the marauders who had 
caused this trouble. The rest went with John 
Weissman to get refreshments at the ranch, and 
from there to find their way home. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


“like a pelican of the wilderness.” 

During his visit to the East, our Pioneer 
Missionary received no more encouragement from 
the Board of Missions, than the promise that his 
statements should receive consideration. It 
accepted the deeds of lots for future church-sites, 
which he brought. For these it was grateful, but 
there was so little mission interest among the 
people that but small sums could be collected to 
aid in building churches on these lots or to sup- 
port pastors in them. Those who found so much 
comfort in their cushioned pews did not give much 
thought to those who could worship only in halls 
or school-houses, and who were too few in number, 
and as yet too poor in circumstances, to keep a 
pastor. The pioneer’s account of his travels and 
labors were considered too self-commendatory and 
his appeals too visionary. Few could see any great 
opportunity or feel any great need in the environ- 
ments of their brethren of the West. Many, for- 
getting how much help the early church in the 

(239) 


240 THE SECRET OF THE CANON. 

eastern states had received from Germany and 
England, cynically answered his call to duty by 
saying, “We had to build our own churches and 
pay for them too ; others must do the same.” As 
far as the souls of the frontier were concerned, too 
many insolently sneered, with Cain, “Am I my 
brother’s keeper?” In total forgetfulness of the 
rock whence they themselves were hewn and the 
pit whence they had been digged, there was much 
prejudice against the foreigner. In those days, 
too, the Eutheran consciousness, a dignified 
loyalty to the Church of the fathers, had not been 
sufficiently aroused. But few felt that they ought 
to help a Eutheran, just because he was one. 
That blood is thicker than water was not an 
accepted practical principle. Perhaps some of the 
ecclesiastical blood was too watery to make the 
difference observable ! But, worst of all, the spirit 
of giving, the grace of benevolence, was not 
developed. The gifts were small, and there was a 
constant fear, even on the part of many pastors, 
that too much money might leave home. The 
mental horizon was narrow. The sense of 
brotherhood was weak. The fires of conscience 
consisted of a few sparks smoldering in the ashes 
of selfishness. The voice of Jesus was too little 
heeded. 


LIKE A PEUCAN OF THE WILDERNESS. 241 

Under these circumstances Mr. Weissman, ac- 
companied by his faithful wife, returned to his 
labors in Canon City. He had hoped to encourage 
the “little flock” by showing them his commission 
as a home-missionary. In this he was disap- 
pointed. But he had promised not to forsake 
them, and here he was to show that he was as good 
as his word. 

As far as his congregation was concerned, he 
found a dismal state of things. For two years they 
had had no preaching. Only the semblance of an 
organization remained. While Mr. Bender was in 
the military service, the Sunday-school entirely 
disappeared. The scholars either became mem- 
bers of other schools or altogether wandered away 
from such influences. Most of the members had 
made up their minds that there never would be a 
Lutheran church in Canon City in their life-time. 
The secretary of the council had even joined 
another denomination. In fact, all the American 
Lutherans, except Mr. and Mrs. Bender, had fol- 
lowed his example. The minority of the foreigners, 
and they, of course, the least Anglicized, still re- 
mained, but they ceased to hope and refused to be 
rallied for a new disappointment. They did not 
know much of mission-aid, and had no faith that 
any would ever be given them. 

16 


242 THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

Mr. and Mrs. Bender felt humiliated. They 
were paying a high price for their loyalty. They 
had seen, even actually helping in their activities, 
six other denominations growing up and flourishing. 

Though their own had had the first opportunity, 
it had fallen into the rear. Even their own children 
were beginning to be ashamed of being called Lu- 
therans, and were almost ready to be confirmed in 
the Episcopal church, in which they had been at- 
tending a course of lectures. Worst of all, the 
Benders had ceased looking for Mr. Weissman’s 
return. They thought that even if he returned 
again, he never would resume the hardships of 
a frontier pastorate. But they did not blame him. 
Again, however, the darkest hour was before the 
dawn. Just as they were brushing the dust off 
their letter of dismissal, which their former pastor 
had given them, when they left the East, and 
which he had advised them to hand to the first 
church they could find, the pioneer stepped into 
their home. 

They confessed to him what they were about to 
do, and how hope deferred had made their hearts 
sick. How could they feel otherwise? 

“Well,’’ said he, “I am here to stay. This is 
the ripest point in this territory, and I mean to de- 
velop it.” 


LIKE A PELICAN OF THE WILDERNESS. 243 

“And we promised you,” replied Mrs. Bender, 
“ to stick to you, and we will. But we really felt 
that even you had forsaken us. We have been so 
sorely disappointed that we could hardly trust any- 
body any more. You must forgive us.” 

“ But, did you forget the lots?” 

“No: but they are gone. They have crossed 
hands several times. It was all done by a sharp 
Yankee trick. But it would cost us several hun- 
dred dollars to get our property again.” 

“But I have the deed for them now in my 
pocket,” said the missionary, striking his hand 
against his vest. 

“Well, I do not understand it. The lawyers 
claim that there is another deed.” 

“So? I must look that matter up.” 

“I am afraid, it will do no good” said she 
sorrowfully. “There seems to be a conspiracy 
against us. As long as we thought we had a prop- 
erty for a church, we felt anchored ; but when that 
was taken from us, our anchor was gone, and we 
began to drift.” 

“Yes,” added Mr. Bender, “five of us had put 
up one-hundred a piece to defend our case in the 
courts, but our lawyer advised us to drop it.” 

All this was dark enough. But worse yet was 
the fact that, though Mr. Weissman asserted over 


244 SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

and over again his purpose to stay with them, the 
Iviitherans would not promise to rally. “We’ll 
see. Begin again, see what you can do, and then, 
if you succeed, we’ll come in.” This was the com- 
mon, disheartening answer to his solicitation. Just 
at this point he also discovered that no hall, except 
the old opera-house, and that only at an enormous 
rent, could be secured for services. The only 
building which might be available for a while was 
the Baptist church, which happened to be tempor- 
arily unoccupied. As for his former helpers. Dr. 
Porter and Miss Smiley were just at present visit- 
ing in the Bast. 

Right at this juncture, when the avenues of 
usefulness in his own church seemed to be closing, 
he received overtures from others. A wealthy 
and liberal denomination, which had became ac- 
quainted with his arduous efforts, offered to 
employ him as a superintendent of its missions 
on the frontier. The salary was good, and the 
work would not be onerous. At the same time a 
local congregation, which would soon be vacant, 
asked him whether he would accept a call, if it 
were offered. Flesh and blood cried, “By all 
means, do.” But he respectfully declined both 
flattering inducements to leave the church of his 
fathers. Had he done otherwise, he could easily 


UKE A f ELICAN OF THE WILDERNESS. 245 

have justified himself. Do we not love and serve 
the same Dord, and strive for the same home? 
Did not his own appreciate him less than others 
did ? Did not his own seem to be without a field 
for him? Nevertheless he thought a soldier 
should stay in the regiment in which he had 
enlisted. Besides, one could not as easily pass 
from one type of Christianity to another, as one 
could change coats. Consequently, at whatever 
sacrifice, he determined to remain loyal to the 
ancestral household of faith, in life and labor. 
But not so much the inappreciation of his work and 
plans, as the blindness of his own church toward 
its immense opportunity, worried him keenly. It 
made him feel sick at heart to see it slipping away 
without being improved. Where he could place a 
thousand men and give them plenty to do, and, if 
time were taken by the forelock, promise them 
cheering success, others could not see anything, 
except the figment of western exaggeration. He 
could not understand how any church could not 
only consent to be, but actually make it its policy, 
always to be last in these centres of population, 
where the Lutherans in any given case had most 
members among the settlers. To him all this was 
surpassingly strange. 

But he could not be idle. He must start anew. 


246 THE SECRET OE THE CA^ON. 

He rented the Baptist church and appointed ser- 
vices. A greatly diminished audience greeted 
him. He had no choir, but Thea Opsal played 
the organ. But at this first service he received a 
special encouragement. A German Reformed, 
with his wife of Baptist extraction, on his way to 
another church with his letter of dismissal in his 
pocket, finding the building open, walked in. 
Having come from a “ union church ” in the East, 
he immediately felt so much at home that, in the 
absence of a Reformed church, he determined to 
unite with its first cousin, the Lutheran. His 
wife said, “If you do, I will.” In a short time she 
and her little girl were baptized together. This 
was the beginning of happier days. But the day 
of small things was not yet past. Only half of the 
former Sunday-school — the lambs of the flock, the 
nursery of the Church — responded to the first call 
for reorganization. And there were only two 
Lutherans to teach the children. But a Baptist, a 
Methodist, a United Brethren minister’s widow, 
a Campbell ite girl, and another lady who seemed 
to value the Koran, the Book of Mormon, and Iii- 
gersoll’s lectures equally — these five women vol- 
unteered to take classes. Mr. Weissman thought 
of the German proverb, “ Aller Anfang ist schwer,” 
but felt like changing it into “ Der zweite Anfang 


LIKE A PELICAN OF THE WILDERNESS. 247 

ist noch schwerer ” (a second beginning is more 
difficult still). Once to have begun and to have 
failed, always makes a second attempt more than 
twice as onerous. The all-important element of 
inspiration and enthusiasm is harder to kindle. 
But though, in his case, the chariot was not drawn 
by winged steeds, it once more was on the stadium. 
The race is indeed not always to the swift. But 
in this case so few contestants were willing to en- 
ter the lists to win the prize. 

Mr. Bender being now one of the county com- 
missioners, directed the minister’s attention to lyin- 
coln County’s humble efforts to found an alms- 
house. For this purpose a tract of land some 
miles out of town had been secured. But as yet it 
had no building. Hence Hansen’s home near by 
was rented to receive the first inmates, and Mr. 
Hansen was appointed the first Steward. 

“Whenever you are ready, tell me, and I will 
take you out,” said Mr. Bender. 

“ Let us yet go this afternoon,” promptly re- 
sponded the energetic missionary. 

“Well, I see I must retreat,” replied Mr. Bender. 
“ I cannot go to-day. But my wife can take you 
and Mrs. Weissman out in our carriage, and I 
want you both to go. ’ ’ 

Thus it was arranged, and in a few hours the 


THE SECRET OF THE CA5?0N. 

party was on its way up the canon-road. When 
they came to the bee-hive cave, Mr. Weissman 
thought of the scout, who used to inhabit it, and 
inquired about him. Mrs. Bender replied, “ He has 
entirely disappeared. Some indeed think he has 
lately been in town several times, in citizen’s garb, 
but none were sure that they recognized him.” 

“ He seemed to be a good, but somewhat eccen- 
tric man,” remarked the minister. 

“ A double man, you would better say. He cer- 
tainly acted and spoke in two different ways, ac- 
cording to the people he met. Mr. Bender once 
overheard him talking to Dr. Porter in the best of 
English, but usually he used the slang of the 
frontiersmen. But I do not mean to say that he 
was false. He may have had good reasons for put- 
ting on the mask of a scout.” 

“ I noticed that dual life too, the last time I saw 
him up the country with a party of huntsmen. He 
tried to hide the fact from me. Consequently he 
was stiff and unnatural toward me. But I owe 
him many kind favors. He is a splendid fellow — 
a large-hearted Hercules. But up there is Dr. 
Porter’s ranch : where is that proprietor, who came 
here to grow up with the country?” asked the 
pioneer, as he pointed to the weather-beaten look- 
out on the hill to the left. 


LIKE A PELICAN OF THE WILDERNESS. 249 

“Oh, lie is all right, as the boys say,” replied 
Mrs. Bender with a woman’s interested smile, “ he 
is back in the clover-fields of New England, where 
Miss Smiley is spending her vacation. He took a 
sudden notion that he must see Bunker Hill and 
Boston, and Miss Smiley writes he is going to ac- 
company her back within a few weeks. You may 
guess what it all means, ’ ’ said she, laughing. 

“So? Perhaps I may have a wedding, like I 
had this morning — my first in the city. Before we 
were up a party knocked at the door. I asked who 
was out. The only reply I got was, ‘We want to get 
married.’ Peeping through the key-hole I saw a 
man in his shirt-sleeves and a woman in calico and 
sun-bonnet. I then called Mrs. Weissman, dressed, 
and called them in. I asked them where they 
came from. They informed me that they lived 
fifty miles down country and had traveled that 
distance in an open two-horse wagon to get married. 
I then performed the ceremony. The man — the 
groom — next handed me a dollar, saying, ‘I have a 
dollar and six roosters ; will that be enough ?’ ‘O 
yes,’ said I, ‘chicken is scarce out here. That will 
do ! ’ So he went to the wagon and brought me 
coop and all. I thanked him, wished them happi- 
ness, and I am sure, a happier couple never left my 
door.” 


250 THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

Mrs. Bender laughed, as she said, “Well you 
were fortunate in your first fee here. I suppose 
you will invite your friends around for chicken- 
pot-pie.” 

But they had now reached the almshouse. It 
consisted of Mr. Hansen’s original sod, and an ad- 
ditional two-story frame attached to it. As yet 
there were only two inmates. One was a gentle 
Swede girl, a confirmed victim of rheumatism. 
She was a member of the Lutheran Church, on 
which account she had expressed a wish to see Mr. 
Weissman. She was a very pious, devoted Chris- 
tian. Her only comfort in this land of strangers, 
four thousand miles away from home, was her 
Bible, her Prayer Book, and the prayers of Chris- 
tians. Mr. Weissman visited her first. She was 
sitting on a rocking chair on the ground-floor. 

The other inmate was a consumptive, whom 
Mr. Bender, in his conversation relative to the 
almshouse, had called “Rattlesnake Pete.” He 
was the man who otherwise was known as Buck 
Taylor. He seemed to have a pseudonym for 
every community in which he had lived. We last 
heard of him on the night when he was almost 
lynched, and when Canon Jack saved his life by 
suggesting that he might make an important con- 
fession. What he said on that dreadful night. 


LIKE A PELICAN OF THE WILDERNESS. 25I 

while sitting on that cracker-box, a rude con- 
fessional, caused the police detectives to realize 
that they could not allow the mob to kill such a 
man. As a result his old patron, Snide, was at this 
time under bonds to answer the charge of horse 
stealing, and Taylor was retained at the almshouse 
as state’s evidence. 

Mr. Weissman found him lying on a cot on the 
second floor, or attic, under the roof — a six-footer, 
with long hair, heavy eye-brows, full beard, 
sunken cheeks, staring black eyes, and pale bony 
features, evidently the wreck of a once robust con- 
stitution. He looked wildly at the minister. But 
the latter, extending his hand, said kindly and 
confidently, “ Well, my dear fellow, I must have a 
word with you too.” 

Reaching out his bony skeleton hand, the sick 
man weakly said, “All right, I like to see people 
of your kind.” 

“How are you?” asked the minister, “I hear 
you are not well.” 

“ Only tolerble,” was the laconic answer. 

The minister did not know what next to say. He 
noticed that the man seemed to want an opportu- 
nity to say something, but Mr. Weissman was at a 
loss to know how to draw him out. But he sym- 
pathetically asked, “ Can I do anything for you?” 


252 THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

“Yes,” was the quick reply, “you can help me 
get rid of my load,” pointing to his heart. 

“What load is there, my good fellow?” tenderly 
inquired the minister. 

“A load of sin.” Then after a pause he added : 
“ O, preacher, if you can do anything for me, do it 
quick. I must die — perhaps to-night yet, and — I’ll 
go to hell, unless — I get help.” 

“May I ask what ails you? ” asked the minister, 
determined to get a history of this man. 

“Whisky is killing me! Whisky is killing 
me!” was the repeated answer. “Preacher, I was 
not always bad. Once I was a — good little boy, and 
always went with my father — and mother to church 
and Sunday-school at — well, no matter, I had good 
praying parents. But I went — through the war, 
then came west, with sixty thousand dollars, and 
to-day — I am a pauper — all through whiskey and 
gambling. Old man Snide got a heap of my 
money — and I know some other things — which I 
will tell, if I live, if he doesn’t kill me — as he tried 
to kill poor Cowboy Jim — for knowing too much. 
The old fox is in his own trap now. But I am 
just as bad — and I own up to it. Oh, I have been 
— such a wicked sinner ! Do you think God can 
forgive me — do you think — He will?” All this 
was spoken very slowly and between long breaths. 


UKK A PELICAN OF THE WILDEKNESS. 253 

Mr. Weissman said, “I will answer your ques- 
tion from God’s own Book : 

“ ‘ Come now, and let us reason together, saith the 
Ivord : though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be 
as white as snow ; though they be red like crimson, 
they shall be as wool.’ 

“ ‘ For God so loved the world, that He gave His 
only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in 
Him should not perish, but have eternal life.’ 

“ ‘And if any man sin, we have an Advocate 
with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous.’ 

“ ‘If we confess our sins. He is faithful and just to 
forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all 
unrighteousness.’ ” 

After quoting and explaining these passages, 
and praying with him, Mr. Weissman asked the 
sick man what he thought about the matter now. 
“ I feel better,” said he, “ I have confessed every- 
thing — and I’ll not take back a word, if I must die 
for it. It is all in the affidavit — that the District 
Attorney, Dawyer Kuhl, took. It is not hanging 
or shooting that I ever feared — but dying a natural 
death — falling into the hands of an angry God. 
Oh, preacher, do something for me — and do it 
quick ! ” 

“ Since when, may I ask, has this change been 
taking place in your mind?” Mr. Weissman had 


254 


THE SECRET OF THE CAf?ON. 


to wait till a coughing fit was over for the answer. 

“ Since I am — here. There is a girl — a sick girl 
down stairs — v/ho gets everybody to pray and sing 
for her. I hear everything up here — and that 
brought me to think — what a prodigal I have been 
— not fit to go inside of a church. But — I am 
getting weak. Preacher, would you read this? I 
just got it.” 

The letter read as follows : 

“Laramie, Wyom., Sept. 3, 1868. 
Mr. Buckingham Tayeor. 

Dear Sir^ — I did not for a long time know what had become 
of you. From an old friend I have just learned that the world 
has used you pretty hard, for which I am sorry. Not to get 
you or anybody else in trouble, but for the satisfaction of some 
who are very much concerned in the case, I would like to 
know whether you know who is buried in that grave in the 
cellar — you know. Was it a soldier? Was his name George 
Weissman? Cowboy Jim, who I am sorry to tell you is no 
longer here to speak for himself, told me it was. I do not want 
you to say anything that would incriminate yourself. On my 
honor, I will not take any advantage of your letter, if you will 
write. But I would like you to help us clear up a military 
mystery. That is all. 

‘ ‘ Y ours truly, John Mackintosh. ’ ’ 

During the latter part of the reading, Mr. Weiss- 
man’s hand trembled so that the paper shook. Not 
noticing his nervousness, the sick man said, while 


LIKE A PELICAN OF THE WILDERNESS. 255 

genuine tears were rolling over liis face, “ You see, 
they think — I am acquainted with every crime 
committed — in the town. I know — about that 
grave. It’s all in the af — affidavit. I am so weak 
— will you give this to the — District Attorney — 
and tell him — answer for me?” 

The poor fellow was very much exhausted, and 
fell back on his pillow. Mr. Weissman pressed his 
hand, and said “God bless you,” but a little dubi- 
ously. Was it possible that his boy was murdered, 
and that this man was the criminal? He was 
afraid to ask the question. But never was he so 
anxious to see an attorney, and especially Mr. 
Kuhl. During the return the horses were all too 
slow for him, while he was fighting himself to 
keep the awful contents of the letter from liis wife, 
who, happily, had not been present at his inter- 
view with the inmate upstairs. 

Of course he did not know that John Mackin- 
tosh was Canon Jack. But he was sorry to hear 
that Cowboy Jim was no more. Does his son John 
knov/ these things? He must ask him when he 
comes next week ; for he and his aging wife have 
been counting the days. John has gained a com- 
petency and is coming to live in Canon City, where 
he intends to take care of his parents. He feels 
that he can not do enough for them. They have 


256 THE SECRET OF THE CANON. 

done and suffered so mucli on his account. He 
can hardly wait until he shall once more in this 
life look upon the face of his dear old mother, 
whom he had not seen for more than twenty years. 
He wants to see the family reunited, and to smooth 
the pillow of the declining years of those who have 
suffered enough on his account. “Honor thy 
father and thy mother that thy days may be long 
in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


THE CYCLONE. 

We must now take a long step in our narrative. 
We skip over two years. At this time a gentle- 
man, dressed in a broad-cloth suit and wearing a 
high silk hat, was, one perfect June morning, walk- 
ing through an avenue of roses toward a neat little 
cottage in New England. A very genteel young 
woman met him at the door. She looked as happy 
as the sunshine. Her face beamed with intelli- 
gence. About her person, as about her home, 
there was every mark of good taste. The gentle- 
man bowed to her, and then, calling her by her 
Christian name, with some enthusiasm extended 
his hand. She only inclined her head slightly 
forward and then hesitatingly gave him her hand, 
her cheeks taking the hue of her lawn-roses the 
while. 

“It is Canon Jack,” said he assuringly. “Have 
I changed. Miss Carrie?” 

“ I should think so — in appearance at least ; but 
now that I hear your voice I cannot doubt. Eike 

17 (257) 


258 THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

Peter, ‘Thy speech bewrayeth thee,”’ she replied, 
smiling. 

“Well, I hope you will be satisfied with the 
transformed scout,” said he, with a humorous 
twinkle. 

“After I get used to him, I suppose I will. But 
come in, mother is here, and is anxious to see you. ’ ’ 

After greeting the woman, whose life he had 
saved, and recalling the terrible experience of 
which, the mother said, Carrie had been asked by 
a publisher to write a description. Canon Jack and 
the two ladies had a consultation concerning the 
object of his visit As a consequence, Mrs. Rush 
said, “You rescued her from a fate worse than 
death ; you have my consent, and may God bless 
you both.” 

Of the quiet wedding we will give no account. 
In a few days the happy couple started for the 
West. Where else should they go? On the train 
Canon Jack unfolded the Canon City “Spread 
Eagle ’ ’ which the post had brought him. The first 
item to catch his eye was this : 

“ The trustees of the Lutheran Society have en- 
tered suit against the Hon. Mr. Snide for the re- 
covery of what they claim to be their property, the 
quarter-block on the corner of Fourth and Willow 
streets. It seems to be a complicated case. They 


THE CYCEONE. 


259 


claim these lots were donated to the society by the 
Railroad Co., some years ago. But the deed was 
not recorded. Afterwards the Board of Education 
built the log school-house on this ground. When 
the brick school-building was put up, the log ‘uni- 
versity’ was sold at public sale. It was bought by 
Buck Taylor, former overseer of Mr. Snide’s ranch. 
Mr. Snide, foreseeing that the property would 
become valuable, repurchased it from Taylor for a 
consideration. In that transaction the deed was so 
drawn up as to include both the house and the lots. 
This deed was forthwith recorded. Mr. Snide has 
since paid the taxes up to date. The claim of the 
Eutherans seems to rest on a slim foundation. 
The case will come off in the August term of court, 
and will be hotly contested.” 

As he laid down the paper he thought to him- 
self, “Won’t that produce a cyclone!” When, 
after the long ride. Canon Jack and his bride 
stepped oif the train at Canon City, nobody re- 
cognized him. The Fort still stood, but there 
were only a few companies of soldiers in it. The 
citizens were mostly new-comers, who had never 
seen him. When the railroad established another 
terminus, so many of the first settlers had moved 
with it, that the city had at one time dwindled 
down from two thousand inhabitants to only 


26 o 


THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 


twenty individuals. But that was in its earlier 
history. A great influx of a more substantial popu- 
lation had now taken the place of the floating and 
shifting squatter elements. 

Canon Jack and his wife registered at a hotel — a 
temperance house — whose proprietor was a very 
gracious host. His name was Caspar Kahn, who 
firmly told all applicants, “No viskey sold here; 
only someding to eat and to schleep.” None of 
the present boarders and guests had ever heard the 
scout’s real name, and few had ever seen his now 
changed wife. Hence they were not recognized, 
and, for the present, he was willing to remain 
incognito. 

He hired a team to drive about the place, to see 
the changes and improvements. In the most ele- 
vated portion of the city, called the “ Bender Addi- 
tion,” was a substantial new house beside the old 
sod-house, into which the weather and rats had 
worn large apertures. The wind-mill was yet 
standing, but its building was now simply a work- 
shop. While passing the place. Canon Jack saw 
the good man and woman talking at a rose-bush in 
the green yard. Near them a fountain was playing 
in the sunshine. On the veranda were two young 
ladies. 

“That, Carrie, is Ruth. What a fine-look- 


THE CYCLONE. 


261 


ing girl she is! The other is a Norwegian 
girl — Thea somebody. How home-like everything 
looks I And if there, among those horses, are not 
Samuel and Olaf, the boys who were pinned toge- 
ther by the Indians ! They are big enough to fight 
the Sioux now, sure. There, that boy swinging in 
the hammock — Ollie, they call him — must be sick. 
I always thought that boy was too good to live. I 
cannot forget how pitiful he once looked when I 
told him I sometimes had to sleep out in the snow. 
I wished I had not told him. He made me feel 
sorry for myself. Those girls with him are, let me 
see, a Danish lass by the name of Christine — yes, 
Olaf Hansen’s sister — and poor Cowboy Jim’s ‘ Irish 
Angel,’ Nora McCabe.” 

Thus he talked almost to himself, though his 
wife listened with interest. They soon reached the 
site of Dr. Porter’s dug-out. Right above it, on 
top of the canon-bank, stood a beautiful cottage. 
People had long watched for a rumored Mrs. Porter 
to occupy it, but, as she never came, the gossips 
had at present dropped the subject. Here Canon 
Jack and his bride spent a most pleasant day. The 
proprietor gave them a hearty greeting, and his 
housekeeper, Theresa Kahn, left nothing undone 
to minister to their comfort. The doctor, of 
course, did not reveal the identity of his guests. 


262 


THE SECRET OE THE CAf^ON. 


In a few days the great lot-trial came off. Much 
interest was taken in it The quarter-block in dis- 
pute was now valued at eight thousand dollars. 
Mr. Kuhl represented the Lutherans. The court- 
room was hot, dirty, and crowded. The lawyers, 
for the most part, were sitting within the railing 
around the Bench, squirting tobacco-juice upon the 
floor. The judge was an eccentric piece of human- 
ity, a remnant of those frontier Solons who often 
had administered justice from a store-box on the 
street corner. But he had a reputation for fairness. 
He wore a linen suit and straw hat. His real oc- 
cupation now was farming, though he still retained 
his office on the bench in a certain county. But he 
was not the regular judge here ; he was only acting 
as substitute in this case. Now and then, during 
the progress of the trial, he would walk up to the 
window to expectorate. Several times, to the 
amusement of the audience, he left his seat, tilted 
his chair, put his feet on the window-sill, turned 
his back toward the jury, and listened to the testi- 
mony. When he had occasion, he left the room, 
letting the rest of the court sit until his return, 
when proceedings would be resumed. At times he 
really took a short nap on the bench. To the visit- 
ors and idle on-lookers all this was as enjoyable as a 
comic play. To them the temple of justice was a 
theatre. 


THE CYCLONE. 


263 


But the IvUtherans had a more serious time. To 
them the case was as grave as a tragedy. Many 
witnesses swore that they were present when the 
house and lots were sold. Receipts from the county 
treasurer showed that Mr. Snide had been paying 
the taxes on the property. His deed had been re- 
corded before that of the Lutherans. He himself 
took an oath that he had bought, not only the log- 
house, but also the land on which it stood. His 
deed called for both. Who could dispute it? The 
bills of the first sale were all lost — at least none 
were in evidence. True, the auctioneer said that it 
was his understanding, so far as he could depend 
upon his memory, that the house only had been 
sold. But the jury might think that he could be 
mistaken. So many rich and influential people tes- 
tified for Snide, that his side seemed much stronger 
than it really was. But all this had weight with 
the jury — especially with the audience. Everybody 
was of the opinion that the Lutherans would lose the 
case. Snide’s claim apparently was legally estab- 
lished. At least, few thought that it could be con- 
tradicted by any known or available evidence. 
When on the evening of the second day, his lawyer 
closed the testimony on his side, the old saloonist 
was observed to have a triumphant countenance 
and to cast a defiant glance toward the five Luth- 


264 "The secret of the ca^^on. 

eran trustees, each of whom had staked one hun- 
dred dollars upon the case. A few days before he 
had vainly tried to bribe them to drop this matter. 
Now he felt so secure that he taunted them. He 
was already revengefully gloating over their dis- 
comfiture. During the trial his bar was free to all 
his witnesses and sympathizers. But he rejoiced too 
soon. 

The next morning there was a sensation in 
court. Buck Taylor had been dead several months. 
Snide could not well conceal his pleasure at the 
funeral, which he attended. He felt that the 
principal witness against him now was silent. But 
Mr. Kuhl here produced the affidavit to which 
Taylor, in view of his expected death, had sworn. 
It was a long document, and various matters were 
mixed together in it. Some items the judge would 
not admit in evidence, but he allowed all of it to 
be read. Of course, the fact of its genuineness first 
had to be established. But this had been provided 
for. Mr. Bender and Mr. Hansen, as well as the 
ex-district attorney, were witnesses to the deposi- 
tion, and others corroborated their testimony. As 
the words of the well-known dead man were being 
read, the dropping of a pin could have been heard 
in the court-room. He seemed to speak from the 
grave. As so much of his confession was damaging 


THE CYCLONE. 


265 


to himself, nobody whose mind was unbiased could 
doubt his truthfulness. The following was part of 
the affidavit : 

“While I was in the employ of said William 
Snide, Sam Sloane and I stole Jacob Bender’s 
horses, for him, for which he paid us one-fourth of 
the selling price. I also do affirm and depose that 
the so-called Cowboy Jim discovered my pard, the 
afore-mentioned Sloane, in the act of disposing of 
the said Bender’s horses, and, upon the above- 
named Snide learning that he was known to have 
been implicated in the robbery, and that said Cow- 
boy Jim was privy to the fact, hired said Sloane to 
assassinate said Cowboy Jim. 

:{£******* 

“I also affirm and depose that by agreement with 
said William Snide, I purchased at public sale on 
the 4th day of August, 1869, on lot 2, in block 6, 
corner of Fourth and Willow streets, a log school- 
house ; and I bought the same with the intention 
of afterwards claiming lots i, 2, 3 and 4 of said 
block, in said city, and then selling the same to 
said William Snide, and this was the tacit under- 
standing between us ; which verbal contract with 
him I also fulfilled, as my deed to him will show. 
But I hereby solemnly affirm and depose that I did 
not at the above-mentioned sale purchase any real 


266 


THE SECRET OK THE CAf^ON. 


estate with the log-house, but purchased and paid 
for the latter only. 

“ I also affirm and depose that I saw, on or about 
July 4, 1863, Corporal George Weissman, a soldier 
of Company I of the 5th U. S. Cavalry, enter said 
William Snide’s saloon, and that the next day I 
saw said George Weissman’s dead body lying in the 
cellar of said saloon ; although I do solemnly affirm 
and depose that I do not know who committed the 
foul murder, of which there was evidence on said 
body, to wit,” etc., etc. 

This was only a fragment of poor Taylor’s paper. 
The scene that ensued in the court room, after the 
reading of it, cannot be described. The judge 
could not well preserve order. A murmur of dis- 
gust and anger burst from the larger portion of 
the audience. One bold fellow cried out, “ Tynch 
him!” and was lodged in jail for it. Of course, 
the opposing lawyers did their best to weaken the 
force of this document, by trying to secure medical 
testimony to prove that Taylor could not have been 
certain that his disease would kill him before the 
horse-stealing case would come up, and that, if it 
should, he expected his confession to save him from 
the penalty of the law, which he himself had vio- 


THE CYCLONE. 


267 


lated. As a matter of fact, the jury was not fully 
convinced by the ante mortem deposition of Taylor. 

“ Such testimony as that,” chuckled Snide to his 
friends, “ only is water on my wheel,” as his eye- 
lids seemed to lift a little. 

The next witness called was examined as follows: 

“What is your name?” 

“John Macintosh.” 

“Where do you reside?” 

“ In this city.” 

“Will you state to the court whether you have 
any acquaintance with Mr. William Snide, the de- 
fendant in this case, here present?” 

“Yes, sir, I have known him well for a number 
of years.” 

(“Impossible,” nervously ejaculated Snide to 
those near him. He did not recognize the old 
scout.) 

“Will you state where you first became ac^ 
quainted with him?” 

“In Pawnee County, this state.” 

“ Is he, in your opinion, an honorable and truth- 
ful man?” 

“Object ! Object ! ” cried two or three lawyers. 
But before their objections could be stated. Canon 
Jack had ansv/ered with a positive, “No, sir. ’ ’ Here 
a long debate between the attorneys followed. 


268 


THE SECRET OF THE CAfJON. 


When the case was allowed to go on, Mr. Knhl 
handed the witness an old sale-bill, saying, “Do 
you recognize that ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, sir.” 

“You will please state to the court what it is, and 
how you obtained it.” 

“Well, it is one of the sale-bills which were 
printed and distributed when the log-house, on the 
corner down here, was to be sold. A friend of 
mine, at the time, being short of stationery, wrote 
me a letter on it.” 

The judge now asked to see the bill. It was 
easily proven to be correct, and it established be- 
yond dispute the claim of the Lutherans. By this 
time Snide was so enraged that those near him 
could see his eye-lids fall down again and hear his 
heavy breathing, as well as the grinding of his 
teeth. He arose and with heavy steps left the 
room. 

The audience showed signs of approval, and most 
of the jurymen heaved great sighs of relief, and 
leaned back on their chairs, as if to show that their 
minds had already been made up. The lawyers 
were about to dismiss the witness, when he ad- 
dressed the judge thus : “ If it please your Honor, 

I declared on this stand this morning that I do not 
consider the defendant in this case an honorable or 


THE CYCEONE. 


269 


truthful man. As that was a pretty severe assertion, 
I would like either to take it back or to give my 
reason for making it.” After vociferating their 
earnest objections, Mr. Snide’s attorney agreed to 
the decision of the judge that the witness might 
give his reasons, but that he would then tell the 
jury what, if any, value they should attach to them. 

“Go ahead. Jack,” cried the judge coolly, as he 
adjusted his glasses on his Roman nose and planted 
his feet on the desk before him, with the manner of 
one who seemed to be enjoying himself. 

“Well, your Honor, Mr. Snide once, in the early 
days, was sheriff of Pawnee County. During his 
administration several horses were stolen, it was 
supposed, by himself. At least, they were after- 
wards found in the care of one of his clerks and his 
land-agent, who were innocently traveling with 
them on business. It is supposed that he could no 
longer hide the nags, and therefore thus villainously 
led his employees into a snare. Strangely enough, 
he had just had a quarrel with them, which he had 
instigated. He himself arrested them and confined 
them in jail. The citizens, as was usual in those 
days, determined to make them stretch hemp. Now, 
it happened that these boys were friends of mine. 
But the excitement was so high, I did not dare say 
a word in their defense. So I joined the lynchers 


270 THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

and decided to use strategy. I had myself appointed 
one of a committee to see the sheriff privately, and 
he agreed that, after a short, but feigned, resistance 
he would deliver the keys. The sign between us 
was, that we should batter in the first door and then 
cover him with guns, when he would give us the 
keys. Two others and myself started an hour be- 
fore the time appointed by the lynchers, but exactly 
at the moment I had told him he might expect us. 
We made noise for forty men, and battered down 
the door, and the sheriff gave us the keys. Here 
they are yet (exhibiting them). Well, we dragged 
the unwilling prisoners out, but brought them to a 
place of safety. Your Honor, I thank you, and 
now I stand ready to prove every word of what I 
have just said.” 

By this time the court-room was as silent as a 
funeral, while the lawyers were preparing to plead, 
and the judge was gathering his notes to compose 
his charge to the jury. We have not here given a 
full account of this famous case ; it would take up 
too much space. Of course, the basis of the Luth- 
ans’ claim to the lots in dispute rested upon a deed 
which Mr. Weissman had obtained from the rail- 
road company, but which he had failed to record, 
never dreaming that land-sharks would ever be- 
come so voracious as to attack the property of the 


THE CYCLONE. 271 

church. But we have seen how well this claim 
was sustained. 

Next morning’s paper stated that Mr. Snide had 
gone east ‘‘on a business trip to the Atlantic.” 
The fact is, he went through the back-alleys at 
midnight, and boarded the caboose of a cattle-train, 
and has never since been seen in Canon City. 

The evening paper contained the following item : 

“ I/ast evening at 10 o’clock Judge gave his 

charge to the jury in the lot-case, which had been 
occupying the attention of the court, and indeed 
the entire community, during the last four days, 
and in which our townsman, Mr. William Snide, 
was defendant, and the trustees of the Lutheran 
society in this place the plaintiff. Early this 
morning the jury rendered a verdict in favor of the 
society. The verdict gives general satisfaction. 
The case developed some interesting facts — some 
sensational revelations — that promise to turn the 
light on several dark problems. ’ ’ 

As might have been expected, Canon Jack’s sud- 
den reappearance renewed interest in his history. 
Some of Snide’s acolytes wrote him anonymous 
letters, in which they drew coffins and informed 
him he would be killed. These he contemptuously 
threw into the fire, and went with his wife to a tea 
at the Bender home. 


272 the secret OE THE CANON. 

Mrs. Bender, with all her friends, was a happy 
woman. Her church had been justified before the 
world. Its enemies were in the dust. She could 
not help rejoicing in the glorious victory. 

“Why,” she asked Canon Jack, “did you not 
before tell us of this man Snide’s tricks.” 

“Because I would have been hounded to my 
death, and would have exposed some of my friends 
to the same fate, if he had discovered who I was. 
You see, the public believed the boys guilty — vox 
populi^ vox dei^ as the orators say. If I had defended 
them, the populace would have hung me. The 
evidence against them was too strong — they had 
the horses in possession. It would have been ut- 
terly useless for them to say that the popular poli- 
tician, the rich aristocrat, yea, the church deacon, 
was a thief. Nobody would have believed them.” 

“ May I ask who the young men were?” inquired 
Mrs. Bender, feeling before the words had escaped 
her lips that she should not have spoken them. 

He mused a moment, then looked about to see 
whether they were alone, and said : “For the 
present keep the matter secret; but, between us, 
they were brothers — the sons of a minister.” And 
he looked at her in a confident manner, intimating 
► that she would understand. 

“ Is that so?” she replied, not in doubt but aston- 


THE CYCLONE. 


273 


ishinent. “ I believe one has been found. Where, 
do you think, is the other? I should be glad for 
the family if he also would appear.” 

“You shall see,” is all he said, and then asked 
that Ruth should come to play his favorite piece, 
“ The Storm.” It reminded him so much of many 
scenes through which he had passed. While her 
skill and expression were delighting her audience, 
none of them were aware that on the outside nature 
from a distance was answering the rolling tones of 
the instrument. A clap of thunder at last brought 
the guests to the window. The sky was inky, 
the clouds were heaping up on each other like 
mountains, churning like a tempest-tossed sea, and 
coming on in the shape of a huge funnel. A 
terrific gale was blowing. The young trees of the 
prairie, which had of course been planted by the 
hand of man, were turned down even with the 
ground, or torn from their roots. Wind-mills were 
flying to pieces, and filling the air with their frag- 
ments. Buildings began to crash. People de- 
serted the streets. At the opera-house a play was 
in progress. A panic took place, men, women and 
children running over each other pell-mell and 
crushing each other’s bones. Men ran out of 
saloons scattering cards all over the streets, as 
when soldiers rush into battle. 

18 


274 SECRET OF THE CANON. 

Terror reigned supreme. The winds were in- 
creasing in power every moment, howling, shriek- 
ing, booming like a million monstrous gongs, 
until the blood froze in one’s veins and the heart 
stood still. Hark ! A terrible crash ! The round- 
house of the railroad shops has been unroofed, 
and the great semi-circular sheet-iron covering 
has been dashed against a hotel, demolishing it. 
A few inmates have been killed. The rest, 
some in dishabille^ are fleeing from the ruins. 
Dozens of frame buildings are rolling from 
their foundations, a number of brick houses are 
thrown into heaps. Hundreds of chimneys are 
sent flying like war-missiles through the air. 
Wagons and cars are upset. The wind-mill school- 
house disappears in pieces down the canon. The 
consternation of the people is pitiable. Women 
are weeping, while crying children are clinging to 
their garments. Men grow pale with fear for their 
families. And now the rain falls in torrents. The 
streets become flooded streams. Hail-stones, large 
as walnuts, rattle on the roofs that remain, and 
crash through the window-panes. On the prairie, 
calves and colts are killed by them. All over the 
ranges birds with broken wings are fluttering 
about. 

At the first signs of danger the Benders and 


THE CYCEONE. 


275 


their guests retreated to the cellar. As the storm 
now seemed to be abating, they left their covert for 
inspection. Fire was being added to the tragic 
scene. The water had kindled it by slaking the 
lime of a store-room. 

“ The city will be better off for getting rid of 
some of its tinder-boxes,” somewhat carelessly re- 
marked the ex-scout. 

As if to reprove him, his thoughtful wife replied, 
“ But let us first see whether any lives were lost, or 
how many were hurt.” 

The scene that met their eyes beggared descrip- 
tion. The storm had plowed through the town 
and tumbled everything on heaps. A besom of 
destruction had swept over the land and left its 
direful effects everywhere. Death, wounds, ruins 
marked its path. Sorrow and tears saddened many 
a heart. But finally the rainbow appeared oppo- 
site the last rays of the setting sun. 

When Mrs. Bender beheld the ruins of the wind 
mill scattered all over the canon, she indulged in 
long meditation. “Are our plans for the future 
destroyed ? Or is that arch of beauty in the eastern 
sky a sign that our night of waiting is over? 
From the wind-mill to the church — shall it yet 
be so ? It may be that this relic of past effort — of 
the day of small things — was destroyed to make 


276 THE SECRET OF THE CA550N. 

room for greater and better blessings. Likely the 
bulb of our patience must decay, that its embryo 
hopes may be fulfilled. If our work is God’s, it 
will not suffer on account of the terrible storms of 
trial that beat upon it. Nor can affliction tarnish 
our crowns.” 

Tlie old Count built his eolian harp in the ravine. 
But calm and sunshine could not wake up the 
music that was sleeping in its chords. But a tempest 
came. And lo, it seemed as though the angels had 
touched them ! Divine harmonies now flowed from 
the hitherto silent harp. Thus there are songs in 
the human soul that only sorrow can call forth. “ I 
shall yet praise Him who is the health of my coun- 
tenance and my God.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE FRONTIER PICNIC. 

“ Religion never was designed to make our 
pleasure less.” There is no causal relation be- 
tween true piety and sadness. The Christian is not 
required to keep a joyless heart and a smileless 
countenance. Though life is serious, it need not 
be melancholy. Man must not become so abnormal 
as to try to make that sour which God meant to be 
sweet. “ Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all 
her paths are peace.” 

Nor dare we banish sociability from religious life. 
It is part of our being. Without it, Eden would 
not be Paradise. We naturally dwell together in 
clusters like the flowers — as families, communities, 
nations. The Church is a society of saints — a 
household of faith. We must band together in it 
for mutual benefit. One stick makes a poor fire. 
A solitary life is no pleasure and no blessing to it- 
self, and certainly none to the world. But no man 
is to live to himself. 

Some such philosophy as this lies at the founda- 

(277) 


278 THE SECRET OF THE CA^^ON. 

tion of the American’s love of such recreations as 
picnics, reunions, and celebrations. We can not 
approve of the excesses to which they may be car- 
ried or of the abuses to which they are subject. 
These we must correct. But the thing itself we 
cannot destroy; we can only reform, perhaps, if 
need be, revolutionize it. 

But no such necessity as yet existed in the Luth- 
eran Sunday-school of Canon City. It never before 
had a picnic. It is now our lot to give an account 
of the first one that it held. We must not miss what 
to it was so important an event. 

Ever since its ownership of the lots was decided 
by the court and thus legally established forever, 
the congregation, which Mr. Weissman was serv- 
ing, had received new life. It experienced a vigor- 
ous revival. Like rain upon a desert place, its late 
providential victory lifted up many a drooping and 
wilted spirituality. This especially was the case 
among the young people. They now realized that 
there was ground under their project. A perma- 
nent location, worth thousands of dollars, though it 
consisted only of vacant lots, was a great encourage- 
ment to enterprising minds. Add to this, that a 
new interest in home missions was developing in 
the East, the Church was awakening to its inviting 
opportunity, so that the Board could promise a def- 


THE FRONTIER PICNIC. 


279 


inite amount of aid, and one can see tlie reason why 
the services in the Baptist church were better at- 
tended, and why the members who were left ceased 
talking of joining elsewhere. The Sunday-school 
felt the impulse most largely. Not only did its old 
friends return, but many new ones entered the 
ranks. Of Mr. Weissman it can be said, that he 
truly renewed his youth. He worked unceasingly. 
Not only did he preach and visit from house to house, 
but, upon occasion, also would sweep the church, 
dust the seats, make the fire, ring the bell, sing in 
the choir, and decorate the building to add beauty 
to worship. He was all things to all men, and a 
man of all trades for the church, if by any means 
he might save some. 

At last came the time to make preparations for 
the first social diversion of the Sunday-school. Now 
arose the absorbing question where to go. Mr. 
Kahn invited them to come to his lake, but his 
trees were only saplings and afforded no shade. 
To this objection he replied that they should 
“bring their umberellas mit.” The only place of 
trees was at Cottonwood Springs, where the river- 
bottom was timbered. Here would be plenty of 
shade and water — two rarities on the prairie. Con- 
sequently the committee of arrangements selected 
this spot. A few of the farmers furnished hay- 


28 o 


THE SECRET OE THE CARoN. 


wagons, and on these and other vehicles, the excur- 
sionists were transported to the woods. A happy 
band of children enjoyed the ride. But older ones 
took as great, though less demonstrative, delight in 
it Herman Kahn, Samuel Bender, and Olaf Han- 
sen had charge of the commissary-wagon. Hans 
Kahn could not go any other way, except in a cart 
drawn by his good goat, Fritz. As partner of his 
fun, he prevailed on his little sister, Dorothea, to 
accompany him. Ruth Bender, Christine Hansen, 
and Thea Opsal had provided ropes for swings, and 
a croquet-set, and were trying to invent other forms 
of amusement. But everything was so novel in 
their experience that they were at their wiFs ends. 
Happily by the time of this occasion Dr. Porter and 
Miss Smiley were back from their eastern trip. 
They rode together, but not alone — Ollie Bender, 
pale but happy, had the pleasure of riding on the 
easy springs of the doctor’s phaeton. The fathers 
and mothers of these young people we need not 
here mention. As if to complete the procession, 
Canon Jack and his wife brought up the rear on 
horseback. All in all, it was a picturesque proces- 
sion indeed. 

Having arrived at the place, it was found that 
over one hundred people were with the excursion. 
All now began to look about for amusement. The 


THE FRONTIER PICNIC. 


281 


first course was furnished by Hans, who, to show 
his skill as a driver, drove so near the embank- 
ment of a gully that he and his goat, with the 
wagon, tumbled down to the bottom, frightening 
a large jack-rabbit almost to death. The terrified 
rabbit ran away, making such great leaps that 
he seemed to assume the size of a calf. Hans 
picked himself up, while his goat began to nibble 
a rare spot of green grass which he had discov- 
ered. This incident, at the outstart, caused every- 
body to roar with laughter. The girls, who, with 
the aid of the boys, put up the swings in the 
river-bottom, soon retreated before an army of 
mosquitoes — millions of them in hot pursuit of the 
intruders. It was utterly impossible to enjoy that 
pastime. 

At a small slough, into which the w^ater of the 
river had backed in flood-time, a number of men 
and boys, as well as ladies, were fishing. On the 
soft sandy bank it was not always and everywhere 
easy to keep one’s foot-hold. Canon Jack, in his 
effort to do so, dug away the earth with the heel 
of his boot. The sand gave way so fast that he 
could not help himself from falling backward, 
and, in his strenuous efforts to keep from sliding 
into the pond, he kicked out of the ground, to 
the astonishment of all, a human bone incased 


282 


THE SECRET OF THE CAfJON. 


in a boot. Mr. Hansen, upon running to his 
aid, and planting his heels near the same spot, 
also dug out the rest of the skeleton, the cranium 
rolling down into the water. How it got there 
was a mystery to all present, but the ex-scout im- 
mediately was reminded of what Cowboy Jim had 
told him concerning his suspicions with reference 
to the grave in Snide’s cellar. But of that conver- 
sation with his lamented friend he said nothing to 
the company. While the anglers were gathered 
in a group around the melancholy heap of human 
bones, and guessing at the possible ways by which 
it might have gotten there, a merrier scene was 
taking place in the )^ard of the proprietor of the 
ranch of Cottonwood Springs. There, for the first 
time in the history of the community. Miss Smiley 
and Mrs. Bender were teaching the young folks 
“ Bingo !” None of the rest had ever before heard 
of it. Dr. Porter and Ruth Bender had set the 
infant classes at work on “tag- ring.” With evi- 
dent gusto all enjoyed it. Of course Hans Kahn 
must fall, while Ruth tumbled over him, and the 
doctor over both, while Fritz came on in the rear 
crying “Bah ! Bah !” 

When the doctor got up, Fritz as quickly butted 
him down again, right on top of Hans. But Hans 
now caught Fritz by the collar and led him to a 


THE FRONTIER PICNIC. 283 

tree where he tied him. The rest of the day he 
could do no further mischief. 

At last luncheon was spread on the dry grass of 
the prairie. With sharpened appeti te all surrounded 
it, and there was enough for all, too. It was eaten 
literally as the poet says : 

Verily, 

Dinner out-doors should be eaten quite merrily 
Ever; for half of the pleasure you take in it 
Lies in the jovial mirth that you make in it. 

Always some flies will get into the cream of it; 

Fish that are frying will burn ere you dream of it; 

Milk that at morning was sweet has been learning 
The secret of Nature that hints of a churning; 

The butter that’s “come ’’ may have hastened by running; 
Mosquitoes, persistent with bills, keep a-drumming; 

The table is always a doubtful thing under 
Its showy pretences, and causes a wonder 
If crockery rests in a state of security; 

Coffee goes down with a fear for its purity; 

Seats are uncertain, and spiders abundant, 

The ladies complain : there is nothing redundant — 

That’s quite beyond question — except it be fun; 

But you almost regret when dinner is done. 

Everybody had a good time. The foreigners, 
who never before had experienced an American 
picnic, thought that up to this day they had not 
realized how much they had been missing. Even 
Mr. Weissman felt the exhilarating influence of the 


284 the secret of the CAf^ON. 

occasion. He became young again by means of 
his sympathy with the enjoyments of youth. He 
played with the children, fished with the men, 
helped the women to serve at the table, and thus 
tasted of that higher happiness which comes to 
those only who try to give pleasure to others. 

The gladsome repast was not over before rest- 
less Hans, in full view of all, climbed on a hay- 
stack and slid down its side. He did not see 
everything below, until he fell sprawling upon a 
black pig. Never in its life was the porker so 
thoroughly frightened. It snorted and squealed 
dreadfully, and almost scared poor Hans to death. 
The whole company ran to his relief, and the pig 
was glad enough to escape by hiding in the inside 
of the stack. As Hans had thus so innocently 
afforded another treat of merriment, he was led 
back again to the table and offered some more cake 
and lemonade. He was all right. 

Next a literary entertainment took place. It 
did not last long. Thea Opsal and Ruth Bender 
sang a charming duet, called “Won’t you come to 
my tea-party?” Christine Hansen and Martin 
Tuther Bender each recited pieces. This part of 
the programme having been fulfilled, one of those 
irrepressible exhorters, who think it is a sin to 
laugh, and who always tell us how bad the world 


THE FRONTIER PICNIC. 


285 


is, volunteered to say something. His ranting oc- 
casioned smiles in some, but disgust in others, 
neither pleasure nor goodness in any. He talked 
about the “ Beasts ” in the book of Daniel and the 
“Worm that thrashed the mountain” in that of 
Isaiah, until a shudder passed over those who only 
half understood what he meant (a thing he himself 
did not know) and whose nerves were weak. Not 
wishing to incur his wrath by any harsher pro- 
ceedings, the audience began to slip away. Wildly 
gesticulating, throwing his arms about like a 
lunatic, the haranguer at last cried out, “What, 
what shall I say yit? What can I say — ah? 
What — ah !” He paused. 

Hans, thinking the man ought to be answered 
and wondering why no one did so, yelled out, 
‘‘Say amen, why don’t you?” This sally 
“ brought the house down.” All got up and left 
the sand-hill orator standing alone and looking dis- 
comfited. 

Next there came a phaeton, at a high rate of 
speed, containing Nora McCabe, who drove, and 
young Hulda Dindborg, who held her father’s 
dinner in a basket. He was watchman and gate- 
keeper on the corduroy bridge, that used to span 
the river at Brady Island, near the Fort. Nora’s 
bronco was white with foam. This attracted the 


286 


THK SECRKT OF THE CAf^ON. 


attention of our friends, and they gathered about 
her to learn the cause. They soon perceived that 
she was also considerably agitated. She related 
that in passing over the little bridge of a gully 
about half-way toward town, she spied six Indians 
sitting in a circle smoking their pipes. They 
absolutely paid no attention to her. They did not 
as much as look up. But she felt sure they were 
brewing mischief. She declared they were Sioux. 
As no red-skins had lately been seen in those parts, 
everybody was greatly surprised by this news. 

Canon Jack immediately told the people what 
to do. He with a few, who happened to have 
weapons, would dog the steps of the six smokers 
to find out, if possible, what they might be after. 
Nora and Hulda were quickly to drive over to the 
lodge of the bridge and inform Mr. Tindborg, so 
that he might be on his guard. 

When these had been despatched on their re- 
spective errands, those who were to remain on the 
picnic ground began to look about to devise some 
means of safety. In those early days, when at- 
tacks from the Indians might daily be expected, a 
miniature fort was built near every house. It con- 
sisted of a wall of sod, inclosing an open piece of 
ground, with a place of shelter in a corner, or 
even underground. It never was wise to shut one- 


THE FRONTIER PICNIC. 


287 


self Up in a house. The Indians could too easily 
approach and set fire to it, especially if, as in the 
present instance, it was built of wood. But in the 
family-fort, one defender, with a good rifle, could 
keep quite a squad of red men at bay. He would 
command the prairie as far as his bullets could 
reach, and no skulking warrior could creep near 
with a fire-brand. 

Into the sod-redoubt on the Cottonwood Ranch 
all the available fire-arms were placed, while 
scouts were sent out to reconnoitre the country. 
But all these warlike preparations did not interfere 
with the plays of the children. They merely re- 
mained within easy access of the rustic fort. But 
all signs of danger soon disappeared. The Indians 
were not after people, but something else. They 
were not just now engaged in the ancient art of 
warfare, but in the more modern one of theft. 

As soon as the band of six suspected that they 
had been discovered, which they rightly judged to 
be the case from the furious driving of Nora, they 
felt that it was necessary to do quickly what they 
intended doing. Hence they expeditiously hast- 
ened to the island, where only two government 
herders had several hnndred horses in charge. 
These the marauders had planned to stampede. 
This object was not difficult of attainment. With 


288 


THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 


long sticks, to which variously-colored ribbons 
were fixed, in their hands, which they waved on 
high, while they whooped like maniacs, first the 
canny mules and then the sagacious horses broke 
away before them. For all that was in them the 
herd made for the bridge northward. Once on the 
other side and out on the open plain, likely the sol- 
diers would never see them again. The rush of 
the animals became all the more frantic because in 
the huddle the savages had succeeded in mounting 
a few of them. If only some one would now close 
the toll-gate on the bridge ! Would Mr. Lindborg 
think so far? This is exactly what Nora means 
to tell him to do, if she can reach him in time. 
Alas ! her own animal, hearing the commotion and 
sniffing the scent of Indians, ran away, upset the 
vehicle and thew herself and little Hulda into the 
branches of a buffalo-berry bush, where her dress 
caught and held her fast. After, with Hulda’ s 
aid, in vain trying to extricate herself, she told 
Hulda quickly to run to the gate, as in a few more 
seconds the panting horses would reach it. This 
the little Swede did, at the risk of her life. Her 
father just then happened to be at the other end. 
He was lame from a wound he had received at the 
battle of the Bloody Pocket, and could not, when 
he did discover the trick of the red-skins, very 


THE FRONTIER PICNIC. 


289 


quickly reach the other end of the bridge. But he 
did the best he could. However, he soon saw that 
the horses would reach the goal first. In that 
event he would have to jump into the river or be 
trampled to death. On they came at lightning 
speed, and, to his horror, his own sweet little 
daughter running before them, only a few furlongs 
ahead ! Just in the nick of time she swung the 
gate into place. In a moment more her father on 
hands and knees reached the same spot. He had 
determined to die to save his child. But it was 
not required. The horses now turned and ran to- 
ward the Fort. The nervous shock which he had 
undergone, however, was too severe for Mr. Tind- 
borg’s constitution. He was prostrated by it and 
had to be carried home in an unconscious condi- 
tion. It was feared he would die. 

Of the six bold savages, who thus had under- 
taken to steal by wholesale, from that day to this 
nothing ever was heard or seen. It is not certain 
that their exploit was altogether in vain. At least 
a few of the government horses, that had been 
grazing on the island, never returned to the 
stables. 

A more important matter was the search for 
Nora McCabe. Canon Jack and his party cap- 
tured her horse, but were too much engrossed by 

19 


290 the secret of the cajRon. 

the stampede to mark his trail. As for Hulda, the 
little heroine who, under her chaperone’s direc- 
tions, had thwarted the Indians, she was not well 
enough acquainted with the neighborhood to be 
able to retrace her steps to the spot where the 
accident had taken place. She only knew that it 
was not on the road. The place was strange to 
her. After vainly hallooing and searching all 
about the bushes for an hour, the men feared that 
the Indians, having discovered her, had either 
killed her or carried her off. Again others became 
horrified with the thought that, perhaps, since a 
few bullets had been sent after the thieves, Nora 
might have been killed by her own friends. Why 
was she so silent ? She must hear the alarm con- 
cerning her. “Nora! Nora I” Without answer 
fell the leaden words among the thickets. Nor 
could the place of her fall be located. 

The people at the picnic soon learned that there 
was no danger at hand. This assurance relieved 
their anxiety, but could not restore the gayety of 
the occasion. Nobody could feel jolly again, 
especially when it was ascertained that Nora 
could not be found. Then, too, by this time it 
was late afternoon. The baskets and other things 
therefore were gathered up and the homeward 
journey was begun. Anticipation always affords 


THE FRONTIER PICNIC. 


291 


more pleasure than the reality of such occasions. 
Yet all thought they had a good time. As this 
was the first, they could not compare it with former 
excursion picnics; hence all the more was this 
one felt to have been a success. Yet many would 
that night have retired feeling that their happiness 
had been greatly marred, if it had not been for one 
incident. 

On returning, Hans Kahn, to avoid the twitting 
of the crowd, took his Fritz and cart, and went 
home across the prairie aside of the common trail. 
He and Fritz would go on a route of their own 
selection and be independent. But he had not 
thought of the gully, which he could not cross 
with his peculiar team. So when he came to it, 
he was in a dilemma, out of which there was only 
one course — he must follow the gully up to the 
little bridge, where alone he could cross it. He 
arrived there before the rest did. When they 
came up to him, he declared he had found “ Miss 
Nory,’’ who, by the way, had now for two sessions 
already been his teacher in the public schools, and 
of whom he thought a great deal. The first 
wagon was full of children. Consequently the 
driver, to whom he told of his discovery, said he 
should tell it to those that were following. Being 
too impatient to wait, he, though his tired goat was 


292 THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

very unwilling to do so, determined to go back to 
meet them. He made but slow progress. But he 
did not need to go far, before he met the grown-up 
young folks in a large hack. These did not want 
to believe him. Perhaps a grain of selfishness 
was the cause of their reluctance. So they waited 
until others came up. Soon Mr. Kahn himself 
arrived at the place where the goat-team was. 
“Gentlemens, dat poy never dold me no lie,” de- 
clared his father. Upon this a number volunteered 
to follow Hans down the gully to the place, where, 
he said, he had seen “ Miss Nory.” Going about a 
mile, they came to a clump of bufialo-berry bushes, 
whose tops did not reach up to the edge of the 
embankment. There on the hard clayey bottom, 
on a bed of tumble-weeds, lay the beautiful Celt, 
too much hurt to move. Tenderly she was lifted 
into a spring vehicle. Catholics themselves could 
not have paid more honor to this faithful child of 
their faith, than was shown her by the often-hated 
Lutherans. She had never manifested bigotr>^, 
and certainly suffered from none. In the simplest 
native honesty she followed Christ in the ordinan- 
ances of her church, and supposed others were 
doing the same through theirs. The last thing in 
the world that Nora McCabe would have done, 
would have been to interfere with the religious 


THE FRONTIER PICNIC. 


293 


preferences of her fellow-men. Of this broad 
minded charity everybody was aware. Hence 
every one who knew her would have gone through 
fire for her. Among these was Hans, the fun- 
maker, who did not care if people laughed at his 
pranks, but who was very sensitive to ridicule. 
“Miss Nory” saw his better qualities and de- 
veloped them. Her words of praise were heaven 
to him in his little world. If it should have been 
necessary, he would have sacrificed even his good 
Fritz in her behalf. The most joyful moment of 
the day was, to him, the one in which he dis- 
covered her. 

“Why, Miss Nory,” said he, “if I had not finded 
you, the wolves would o’ eat you, so they would.” 
And his blue eyes grew pensive at the sad thought. 
It had never before occurred to her, but she now 
felt the force of it. At least, what could have pre- 
vented such a calamity, if a pack of coyotes would 
have come upon her in that lonely gully ? 

By the time the last excursionists came to town, 
it was dark. They found the citizens very much 
excited about a prairie fire that for the first time in 
its history was raging on this side of the river. 
There was no danger to the city, though parts of 
the country had suffered some damage ; but at the 
National Cemetery, which the government had just 


294 secret of the CAl^ON. 

established near the Fott, there was the most 
singular conflagration that ever took place in this 
country. All the dead soldiers from Ft. Kearney 
and other places had been transferred in coflSns to 
the new military cemetery. These coflSns were 
arranged in order on the plain, when the wave of 
fire suddenly swept along and all of them were set 
on fire. The workmen could not get near, on 
account of the heat, and many people came to wit- 
ness the accidental cremation of the boys in blue, 
who had died in the service of their country. It 
was a gruesome scene. 


CHAPTER XX. 


LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 

“ Beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, 
the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.’’ 
Mr. Weissman felt that this promise was having 
fulfilment in the Lutheran congregation of Canon 
City. The harps were being taken down from the 
willows. Isaiah’s prophecies were not more wel- 
come to the Jews in Babylonian exile, than was the 
coming of the Secretary of the Board to the Luth- 
erans of the plains. At last their condition re- 
ceived consideration. Finally their petitions were 
heard. Weeping had endured for a night, but joy 
came in the morning. 

‘‘We had given up,” said Mrs. Bender to the 
representative of the Board. “Our victory in the 
lot-case is the only thing that saved us from going 
under. Even your aid could not have revived us, 
unless we had regained our property.” 

“Well,” said he, “the Board admires the pluck 
with which you hung together, under most adverse 
circumstances, and I am here not with promises, 

(295) 


296 the secret of the caRon. 

but with assurances. All I want to know is, what 
you can and will do for yourselves. The Board 
will do the rest.” 

Even now that the financial outlook was so 
bright, the task of building up a Lutheran congre- 
gation on the frontier still was herculean. The 
material was plentiful, but mostly foreign. One of 
the worst hindrances was the disposition of many 
to build a church from the sale of the valuable lots, 
to let the Board pay the missionary’s salary, and to 
do less than nothing themselves. “Wo to them 
that are at ease in Zion.” As a prudent master- 
builder, Mr. Weissman kept all these things in 
view, and quietly set himself against all wrong ten- 
dencies. He soon taught the people that, unless 
they had a mind to work and to give, they never 
would have a real church — that bricks alone could 
not do everything. But satisfactory arrangements 
having been agreed upon between the Secretary and 
Council, the First Lutheran Church of Canon City 
became a mission of the Board. 

It has several times been hinted in this story 
that Ollie Bender was a delicate boy. He now was 
thirteen years old. He was one of those rare 
human beings who are born good, in whose beauti- 
ful characters we can see how angelic the children 
of men might be, if they wanted to. 


LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 


297 


He was active, but pale, and always thoughtful. 
The breaking up of the soil, especially by the 
grading of the streets, and the gathering of the filth 
natural to a city, produced malaria in Canon City. 
Several children took it and it developed into a 
typhus form. First Jennie Magnussen, a niece of 
Mr. Lindborg, fell sick of the fever. The family 
was poor. The father and two little girls were 
alone in this country. He had come first, and 
when he had enough money to bring them over, 
he sent for them before they should be too old for 
half-fare rates. So they were confirmed by the 
pastor in Sweden, badges put on them to show 
strangers what place they were destined for, and 
committed, by the trnstful mother, to the God of 
the sea and the kind hearts of her fellow-men. 
Thus Tillie and Jennie Magnussen travelled four 
thousand miles, without a single harm. When 
they came to Canon City they did not know that 
they were to get off the train, but the conductor 
saw their badges and led them to a friend. They 
readily found their father. As they were good 
praying children, they soon obtained good homes 
with nice people. But Jennie was now very sick 
and at the point of death. 

Ollie, too, had the fever and was constantly 
getting worse. Dr. Porter shook his head, as Mrs. 


298 THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

Bender remembered he had done when Eva Clarke 
was sick. Nora McCabe was an angel of good- 
ness. The family was worn out with watching, 
and this Catholic girl relieved them day and night, 
only snatching an hour of rest now and then. The 
best was, she did it so cheerfully. Miss Smiley 
too was helpful. But she had returned to the 
West with an invalid mother, who required much 
of her time. The very presence of this old tried 
friend was a comfort to Mrs. Bender in this affliction. 

After a week the fever went down and Ollie 
began to speak rationally again. Great was the 
joy of all when he asked to be dressed, and sat in 
a chair. Nora went down the canon and gathered 
wild-hop flowers, white poppies, and the purple 
gentians of the prairie to put on his little table. 
The costliest fruits were given him by the neigh- 
bors. Many people called to express their 
pleasure at his recovery. But one Sunday evening, 
after a very cheerful day, he could not sleep. He 
asked to be taken from his own to his parents’ 
bed. Miss Smiley came in at midnight and called 
Mrs. Bender. “Jennie is dead,” she whispered. 
Mrs. Bender sank into a chair. “ O God, in the 
midst of life we are in death. I have been feeling 
all day that something would happen before long.” 
Just then Ruth said Ollie was calling for her. 


LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 


299 


Both ladies went into the room. There lay Ollie 
on a pillow, his great blue eyes turning from one 
to the other. His pale face was serious, but a 
smile came to his lips, when his mother and this 
dear teacher came into the room. “Do you see 
those little ones on the chairs? — no, the room is 
full of them,” said he, pointing to several places 
and looking around. The rest gazed around in 
silence. They saw nothing, but felt much. 
“ They are waiting,’^ he continued. “ Papa, won’t 
you pray?” All the father could do was to take 
his boy in his arms. ‘‘ Now they are beckoning 
to me to come. I must go. Mamma, won’t you 
pray ?’ ’ he asked. But she could only fall on her 
knees and take his hand. “Samuel, Ruth, you 
pray.” But they were speechless. Miss Smiley 
now knelt down and prayed in whispered words. 
Ollie waited till she was done, while the most 
peaceful expression rested on his face. “Here 
they are again,” he said, gazing all about the 
room. Then, folding his hands he repeated the 
Dord’s Prayer. The clock struck two. The night- 
wind moaned in the chimney. The windows gave 
a low rattle. 

Then he again referred to the “little ones.” 
“They are waiting. I must go,” he said. Then 
again folding his hands, he said : 


300 THK SECRET OF THE CAJ^ON. 

“Now I lay me down to sleep, 

I pray thee, Lord, my soul to keep; 

If I should die before I wake, 

I pray thee. Lord, my soul to take.” 

With the last word, his spirit fled to the better 
world. He never spoke again in this. “ Ollie is 
dead,’’ cried the weeping father. 

But the “lyittle Ones” seemed to sing from 
the starry way: “It is well. It is well with 
him.” Better than we can describe, can we im- 
agine the scene which followed. How empty the 
world seemed ! How bitter death is to those who 
are left ! How precious, at such a time, is the 
doctrine of the resurrection unto life ! 

The following days were the longest and 
dreariest in the history of the Bender home. The 
sad heavy hours never seemed to end. The 
white crape on the door, the slowly-tolling bell, 
the long procession to the cemetery, the open 
grave, earth to earth, dust to dust, ashes to ashes, 
the silent sympathy of friendship — who can for- 
get these things? Near their own lands, on the 
flats above the canon, Ollie was laid to rest. He 
sleeps amidst the scenes of his childhood, where 
he spent many happy hours with his young mates. 
The wild flowers he loved so much adorn his 
mound ; the silent stars, which always awed him 


LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 


301 


with their mysteriousness, smile upon it at night. 
Many were the hearts that were softened by this 
early death. By the tendrils by which they were 
bound to this dear boy, they were drawn toward 
the glory to which he had gone. The Sunday- 
school, the church, the whole community was 
welded together in closer fellowship by the hot 
tears of this bereavement. No one dieth unto 
himself. 

Mr. and Mrs. Bender still mourn for their child. 
But they are reconciled, firmly believing that Ollie 
is better off in those mansions where all tears shall 
be wiped away forever. Through their misty tears 
they look at the rainbow of God’s promise, and are 
satisfied. They have planted the white lily of 
hope on their grave, and are looking forward to a 
blessed reunion in that land where the home shall 
never be broken up, and where no farewell ever 
need be spoken. 

But in a few weeks Christmas came again. It 
always finally does come — so quickly for the old, 
so slowly for the young. It comes to frigid snows, 
to torrid isles, to the eastern hills, to the western 
plains, to youth, to age, to rich, to poor, to the 
glad, to the sad. It brings the same message to all, 
but not with the same effect. Even its joys some- 
times are the cause of tears. 


302 THE SECRET OF THE CA^ON. 

This year the children of the Tutheran Sunday- 
school and its friends anticipated Christmas with 
special zest. In another year they would be in 
their own building. The old lots have been sold 
and new ones, in a more desirable location, have 
been secured. Hence this shall be the last Christ- 
mas in rented quarters, of which all were becoming 
tired. Let us now see how Christmas is observed 
on the prairie. 

Ruth once wrote a letter to Santa Claus for 
Martin: 

Dear Santie : 

Remember^ we are out west now. The name of our town is 
changed from Cedarville to Canon City. Martin wants a sledy 
but if some other little boy thaVs poor needs ity give it to him. 

Yours truly, Martin Luther Bender. 

“Where is Martin?” Mrs. Bender asked in 
about an hour. Nobody could tell. They looked 
all about the place and in every comer, but he did 
not appear. They called, but he did not answer, as 
usual, “He I is ” — which is a remnant of his baby 
talk. 

Ruth went down the road toward the city. 
There she met Miss Smiley leading Martin by the 
hand. They soon would have sent the police after 
him. 


“Why, Martin, where were you?” 


I^IGHTS AND SHADOWS. 


303 


“ I found him standing on liis tip-toe, putting a 
letter in the post-office slot,” said the teacher, 
laughing. 

Hans Kahn hung up his stocking on Christmas 
eve and he pinned the baby’s to his, so “ Kriss 
Kindly ” should not miss it, because it was so 
small ! But his mother had to patch it first to keep 
his things in it. That done, Hans turned a somer- 
sault into bed, as happy as a gopher. 

A touching scene was witnessed that evening. 
An immigrant wagon passed through town, all 
closed, with a pipe sticking and smoking out of the 
top. A pair of stockings was dangling from the 
side of the canvas. Some child on a lonely journey 
had faith enough to believe that Santa would miss 
it nowhere. No wonder that Ollie once asked his 
mother whether Santa was not a brother of Jesus. 
“No, dear, Santa is Jesus himself,” she said. We 
suppose she was right. 

The exercises of the Sunday-school took place 
on Christmas evening. The few coal-oil lamps 
and a five-branched tallow candle, made by a 
Swedish lady, illuminated a scene at once weird 
and fascinating. The tree, with its German angels, 
paper articles, and candies, pop-corn strings, and 
white cotton at the base, looked like a Norway 
pine in dreamland. Behind it was a door-way of 


304 the secret of the ca5Jon. 

festooning, through which the infants came before 
the audience from behind a screen. The coarse 
frontier dresses of the men, the neatly-dressed 
ladies and children — it all seemed as if a company 
of ancient Druids were worshiping a tree, and the 
fairies were moving about it. The light being 
poor, its dimness but heightened the effect of the 
scene. It was indeed very beautiful. 

Ruth was the first to say a piece, supposed to 
have been written by Dr. Porter. 


“ Far out upon the prairie^ 

Where many children dwells 
Who never read the Bible^ 

Or hear the Sabbath belld' 

’Twas thus in eastern Sunday-schools, 
The children used to say, 

But now we are in better times. 

And on a better way. 

The Golden Chain of Christian truth 
Has circled our parts. 

The sod-house homes and prairie-towns 
Were sought by loving hearts. 

The Sunday-school to us has come. 

And Christ anew is bom 
Upon these far-off western plains. 

As on that eastern morn. 


LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 


305 


We, too, can sing our Christmas songs. 

And read the Bible well. 

Nor hear we only sounds of art. 

But too the Sabbath bell. 

Our crystal skies and boundless meads, 

Resound the silv’ry ring, 

While wise of East and wise of West 
Lay gifts before the King. 

Thus others prayed, and pitied us. 

Who now the ranks recruit ; 

Their thoughts of love and faith and hope 
Have blossomed and borne fruit. 

Now here upon the prairie. 

How many children dwell, 

Who always read the Bible 
And hear the Sabbath bell ! 

The object of the exercises was not only enter- 
tainment, but also instruction. Both were reached. 
When the little ones marched before the audience 
through the arch, even a saloonist, who was 
present, was moved to tears, as others were. 

All the children received presents. Some of the 
classes remembered their teachers. Thea Opsal, 
the organist, received gifts of appreciation for her 
long and faithful services. In presenting them, 
the pastor said that, in former years, when starting 
for church, “I always felt sure of three being 
there — God, myself and Thea Opsal.” A higher 


20 


3o6 the secret of the canton. 

compliment for fidelity no one could deserve, but 
all felt that she had deserved it. 

The next speech was made by Dr. Porter, who 
declared he believed “ more in taffy than in 
epitaphy,” and in the name of many friends, 
“mostly outsiders,” placed Mr. Weissman on a 
willow study-chair in the middle of a Turkish rug, 
put a silk hat on his head, and asked him to accept 
these tokens for what they expressed. 

Perhaps the most delighted auditor was the Sec- 
retary of the Board, who, on his return, was spend- 
ing Christmas in town. After the services, in 
which he congratulated the school, he and Mr. 
Weissman had a conversation about the work. 

“You have many fine people here, Mr. Weiss- 
man. The merchants speak well of them as good 
citizens. They pay their debts and taxes, and 
live moral lives.” 

“Yes, and they pay well to their pastor’s salary, 
too. Some of my servant-girls pay as much as 
some rich farmers in the East used to pay. Most 
of our members are working men, and they are 
liberal.” 

“Of course,” continued the Secretary, “they 
are naturally not society people, but you will 
not suffer from social inequalities long. Your 
young people will correct that.” 


LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 


307 


“They are very hopeful,” replied the old pastor, 
with enthusiasm. “They staud well in the 
schools. These children of foreign parents are 
very bright, and they love to study.” 

“Yes there is your hope,” calmly remarked the 
Secretary. “It will be slow work. You must be 
patient, and wait till your church grows up. But, 
in about ten years, you, or somebody else, will see 
a flourishing congregation here. This, at least, is 
my prophecy. I am glad, Mr. Weissman, that you 
were here first. I never so fully appreciated what it 
was to enter into other men’s labors. These mission- 
aries on the plains, who are the first ministers on 
the ground, tell me they wish some good man had 
been ahead of them to break the sod — that is, to 
break it well, of course. ’ ’ 

“One soweth, another reapeth,” said the old 
pioneer. “I rejoice that I was permitted, as it 
were, to build the engine which others will use. 
After all, the increase comes from God, and to him 
be the glory.” 

“I am afraid the churches in the East will not 
be as patient as they should be, unless the results 
of our work are quick and very great,” remarked 
the Secretary. 

“But we must teach them how late we came 
into the field, how poor our people are, how slow 


3o8 the secret oe the canon. 

the foreign element grows into American church- 
life, how humble our social standing at first is, and 
trust in God for results.” 

“Mr. Weissmann,” inquired the Secretary, 
“what would you say is the opportunity of our de- 
nomination in these western regions?” 

Twirling his glasses in his left hand while ges- 
turing with his right, the pioneer said, with 
emphasis, “Immense! Immense! Such as no other 
has. The Germans are coming by the millions, 
and at least 65 per cent, are Tutherans. The 
Scandinavians are coming by the hundred thous- 
and, and nine-tenths of them are Lutherans. Be- 
sides these, there now are in Nebraska alone 50,000 
Lutherans from Pennsylvania, 36,000 from Ohio, 
and about 25,000 from other eastern States. These 
are undoubted statistics. I calculate that by the 
close of the century there will be in this country 
four millions of uncared-for members of our 
church. To give these places of worship, if we 
were to organize them into congregations of five 
hundred souls each, we must build eight thousand 
churches. In other words, the unhoused Lutheran 
parents and children, in the United States, will 
in numbers nearly equal the whole population of 
Pennsylvania. With only two square feet of stand- 
ing room for each, this mass of human beings 


LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 


309 


would make a procession, five abreast, over three 
hundred miles long.. Bless you, they are now 
coming at the rate of four hundred a day. Why, 
we could build up a congregation at every railroad 
station from Plymouth Rock to the Golden Gate.” 

“Well,” exclaimed the officer, “you have the 
subject down fine ! ’ ’ 

After a pause, the older continued, “The great 
need of the times is ministers who have been edu- 
cated in the field, yea, born in it. We must raise 
our men from the soil, as it were. The East can 
barely secure enough for its own pulpits. And no 
wise general will let his base of supplies suffer. 
Besides, while you, and others, are doing well, you 
can not be immediately as well adapted to this 
work, as one who had grown up in these peculiar 
circumstances. You must study what he would 
have imbibed from the atmosphere. ’Tis no use 
denying it, you have spells of homesickness, mel- 
ancholy and discontent, of which he would be bliss- 
fully free. What disheartens you, he would expect 
as matters of course. Eife here would be his native 
element. Then he would marry here, and there is 
a world in that ! These brave missionary wives 
are heroines, but their sacrifices are too great, their 
trials too severe. Nerves and heart will wear out. 
They miss too much that they were accustomed to. 


310 raE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

Yes, my friend, we must have western Colleges and 
Seminaries to raise men and women for our work. 
We must rear a race of autochthons, as the Greeks 
would say. Our cedars must be grown in this 
climate. My greatest hope in the Foreign Mission 
cause is in a native ministry. I wonder how soon 
our people will see this point and establish these 
needed institutions to equip men for the magnifi- 
cent work we have here at home. Oh for dedi- 
cated purses! Oh for consecrated hearts! Millions 
of lyUtherans, and so few churches, so few minis- 
ters, so few helping hands ! It is enough to make 
me wild ! ” And he was pacing up and down the 
room. 

They now retired. But the old man meditated 
long upon the fact that he would soon have to 
leave the scenes of earth, without seeing his church 
fully awake to its privilege and duty. “ And when 
the port shall be visible, will the ship enter it? Or 
will it ride at anchor in the placid bay of indiffer- 
ence?” Such was his last thought. 

In this chapter of lights and shadows of life we 
are invited to attend that ceremony of orange- 
flowers — a wedding. It is to take place down the 
canon, at what is known as Porter’s Ranch, 
although the doctor also has an office in the city. 

The typical western house, only one story and 


LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 31I 

a-half high and spread far over the ground, instead 
of scraping the sky, as eastern mansions do, is 
adorned for the happy occasion. From the look- 
out floats the beautiful flag — always a sign that the 
doctor is at home. From its lofty cupola one can 
to-day view a far different scene from that which 
greeted the watcher, who first looked down from 
it. The very face of nature has been partially 
revolutionized. Yet there is the canon, and its 
still mysterious cave, still holding its own secret 

But here come some carriages with guests, all 
happy and talkative. They are going to the 
wedding — some because they are anxious to be 
there, others simply because they have been in- 
vited. Here in this coach are four people, who are 
speaking too loudly — three ladies and one gentle- 
man. Involuntarily we overhear them discussing 
other people. 

“Mrs. Dearborn,” says Miss Snide, “why do 
you think the doctor said ‘ no presents ’ in his invi- 
tations ?” 

“ I guess his fiancee wished it so. It is Quaker 
simplicity, I suppose.” 

“Well I don’t like the simplicity. I never 
thought, anyhow, that he would marry such an 
unfashionable creature. Why she don’t play 
cards, she don’t dance, she turns her wine-cup 


312 THE SECRET OF THE CAfJON. 

Upside down — she is unsociable. A society woman 
would have suited the doctor better.’’ 

“Well, she suits said the gentleman “and 

it is none of our business” — and he vigorously 
puffed at his cigar. 

“Now, Dearborn, you let us alone. I guess 
woman has a right to talk. We won’t find many 
of our set there to-night. I guess we will have to 
act the Puritan before those religious people. But, 
if I could have sent my hundred-dollar present in, 
I wouldn’t care,” pettishly remarked Miss Snide. 

“ Why, you must admire the simple Quakeress 
very much. You sent me only a seventy-five 
dollar present.” A few more puffs. 

“O well, society — society, you know,” said Miss 
Snide languidly and went on chewing gum, work- 
ing her jaws, like Hans Kahn’s goat. “ Bnt I have 
saw such things before. But they are old enough 
to know, I am sure.” 

“All I can say,” said the third lady in the 
carriage, now a very popular young woman, “is 
that the doctor will have such a jewel in his wife 
that he will not miss any presents.” It was Nora 
McCabe’s remark, and Miss Snide never forgave 
her for it. She imagined it was a personal stab. 

At last everybody was in the parlor waiting for 
the bride and groom to come down stairs. Nobody 


LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 313 

wanted to say anything and every one felt a little 
foolish, not knowing what to do with themselves. 
All at once the rustling of silk dresses announced 
that they were coming. The minister, Mr. Weiss- 
man, took his stand at the fire-place, where Mrs. 
Smiley sat. All eyes were turned toward the 
stairway. Not a breath is heard. Now come the 
bride and groom and behind them come grooms- 
man and bridesmaid — Col. Holman and Miss Nora 
McCabe. 

When they all stood before the minister, and he 
was about to begin the ceremony, Duke lay down 
right between the minister and Miss Smiley. He 
watched the people, who were smiling, and seemed 
to be listening to the words. When they joined 
right hands, Duke got up and laid his great paw 
upon his mistress’ hand and looked into her face. 
When the minister put his hand on theirs, Duke 
seemed displeased, and the word “ Amen ” was 
hardly said, when he gave a “ bow-wow,” and 
made all the people laugh. Then Mrs. Porter (for 
she was that now) reached down her hand for 
Duke’s paw, which he gave her, and thus was the 
first to congratulate her. 

“Give me a paw too,” said the doctor, “or else 
I will be jealous, Duke.” 

“Well,” said Mr. Weissman, “this is the first 


314 MB SECRET OF THE CANON. 

time I got mixed in a marriage ceremony — not 
knowing whether I was marrying the doctor or 
this Duke.” 

Of the congratulations, the fine dinner, the 
venison and cake, the fun of the young folks, the 
wedding-tour, we cannot speak. Even Miss Snide 
confessed that they had a good time and that the 
bride looked perfectly lovely. 

To Mrs. Weissman, the pioneer’s wife, a digni- 
fied silver-haired lady, whom everybody respected, 
this wedding-day was, strange as it seems to say 
it, really happier than her own. This was the first 
time for twelve years that she had seen her boy, 
John. The false charges under which he had 
been resting had been removed. He was now 
completely beyond the reach of those who would 
have harmed him to clear themselves. As a hero, 
rather than a criminal, he was introduced at the 
wedding as an old friend of the doctor, as well as 
the son of the honored pastor of the Eutherans. 

In a substantial home he is now going to take 
care of his aging parents. They will want noth- 
ing until they shall go hence. The evening of 
their life shall be without the clouds of anxiety 
that had so long darkened it and without the 
thorns that had so long entangled their path. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


THE RED man’s revenge. 

The following spring the Indians once more ap- 
peared on the streets of Canon City. But they 
were not dangerous. It was only a party of Paw- 
nees, the remnant of a great nation, who had 
almost been annihilated by their unrelenting 
enemies, and who, consequently, from very neces- 
sity, became the allies of the white men. Not the 
pale-faces, but the bloody Sioux, were their de- 
stroyers. The aborigines always have suffered 
more from each other than from any other source. 
Not only among civilized people, but also among 
savages, as the poet says, has “man’s inhumanity 
to man made countless thousands mourn.” This 
is the saddest fact of life. 

The Pawnees that came this time were on a 
hunting expedition. They were out of meat and 
half starved, having eaten almost all their dogs to 
save themselves from starvation. Altogether they 
made a sorry appearance. Glad were the citizens 
to learn that these visitors, after having begged 

(315) 


3i6 the secret of the caRon. 

some provisions, decided not to stay near town, 
but to station their women and children, and old 
men, down in the canon, near the cave, while 
the younger went on the chase. Here they were 
considered safe. Though these Pawnees were 
harmless, many a door was slammed in their 
faces, when they approached the houses on the 
outskirts and in the country. The population 
had learned to fear the wild people of the plains, 
though these were not as formidable, as they were 
filthy and haggard. Hence they were regarded 
as curiosities, but to be most admired at the great- 
est distance. Yet much necessary food was given 
them. 

In those days, when the first flowers were be- 
ginning to bloom, and well-known birds were for 
the first time singing in the newly-inhabited plain, 
Mrs. Bender received a visitor who was a great 
comfort to her. Her great sorrow was still weigh- 
ing heavily upon her. Her Ollie’s grave received 
many pilgrimages. Upon that mound the grass 
always was green, the flowers always fresh. Up to 
this time she could not feel that any one had 
sympathized, or could fully sympathize with her. 
She felt as one who was walking the valley of 
Baca alone — that to her depth of grief no one had 
yet descended. She appreciated from the heart all 


THE RED man’s REVENGE. 317 

the efforts of her friends to sympathize with her, 
but she painfully felt, “they cannot suffer with 
me.” But one day, upon returning from one of 
her sad pilgrimages to the little white stone on 
the prairie, which more than ever seemed to wear 
a mournful aspect, she found a lady waiting for 
her. 

The stranger extended her hand, saying, “Mrs. 
Bender, I suppose you do not recognize me any 
more.” 

lyooking intensely at the thin, pale face and 
large, pensive eyes, Mrs. Bender replied, “No, I do 
not, yet there is something familiar in your face.” 

“Well, I am Mrs. Clarke — and — .” 

“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Bender, as her emotions 
caused her bosom to heave, “the mother of the 
little girl, who was buried by the road-side, when 
we came out here — Bva’s mamma.” 

At the mention of that name, the poor woman 
utterly broke down, overcome with grief. Mrs. 
Bender wept with her heart-broken sister. After a 
while Mrs. Clarke cried out, “O, these wounds, 
these wounds never will heal !” 

After obtaining better control of herself, she 
continued, “ I am on my way to try to find my 
Eva’s grave. Your husband was the good man 
who made her coffin. I heard you lived here, and 


3i8 the secret of the caRon. 

I have come from Cheyenne to ask him to give me 
an idea of where we buried her. I cannot recol- 
lect. I could not recognize the spot.” 

“ We can help you,” kindly spoke Mrs. Bender. 
‘‘ There are others of that party living here. They 
will be able to find it. ’ ’ 

Looking at her tear-stained face, Mrs. Clarke 
gently said, “I am much obliged for your sym- 
pathy. It does me good to have any one weep 
with me. The loss of my dear little girl has 
almost killed me.” 

“ But I am not altogether unselfish in my tears,” 
added Mrs. Bender, “ I am in sorrow myself. ’ ^ But 
she could not just then tell the reason. Thus these 
two women wept together over their common 
woes, and each found in the other, one who could 
walk with her on the bottom of the sea of sorrow. 
Mrs. Bender at last had found a soul that could 
touch hers in real sympathy — one who felt and 
suffered like herself. 

Next morning they both went out to the ceme- 
tery. They found a man resting on one knee to 
read the inscription of the tombstone which 
marks Ollie’s resting place. It was Canon Jack. 
His very presence there, though he did not refer to 
her sorrow, was a source of consolation. 

He seemed to be chiefly interested in the Paw- 


THK RED man’s revenge. 


319 

nees, whose wigwams were visible. “They are 
not safe,” he said. 

“Why not?” asked Mrs. Bender. 

“I know who their enemies are,” significantly 
answered he. 

She then told him of Mrs. Clarke’s mission. 
He promised to lead her to the little mound by 
the lone box-elder tree at the gulch. “I saw 
where you put her and have been there since.” 
Just then the lively music of a military band came 
floating up from the Fort. 

“The regiment from Ft. I/aramie,” exclaimed 
Canon Jack, “is to arrive in a few hours. Our 
boys are going out to meet them at the train. I 
want to be there too.” So tipping his hat, he 
mounted his horse, which he had left at the 
entrance, and rode off. 

At the time of which we are now writing, the 
lyUtherans were building their new church. Only 
a few weeks previous the corner-stone had been 
laid with impressive ceremonies. But the sensible 
people had done, what hardly ever before was the 
case in western mission-history — they had first 
erected a parsonage for the pastor, not the one who 
was now there, but the younger man that was soon 
to come. Bricks, piles of lumber, heaps of sand, 
the noise of trowels, hammers and saws — every- 


320 THE SECRET OE THE CARoN. 

thing indicated the builder’s art. Every day the 
plans and specifications are unrolled by the archi- 
tect and contractor. Every day the pastor is trudg- 
ing from house to house with his subscription 
book. Generous are the citizens, generous are 
many of the other church-members. The city 
takes pride in this new structure, which is to be 
the finest for miles and miles around. Though last 
to begin, the Lutherans are to have the best church 
in the place. Sometimes and in certain respects 
there is an advantage in coming last. “ The last 
shall be first,” says the promise. 

A stronger self-consciousness is growing among 
the Lutherans. They are now taking a justifiable 
pride in their own enterprise. The fires of enthu- 
siasm once more are lighted. They are beginning 
to learn to know themselves and to appreciate their 
heritage. Their doctrines, while not antagonizing 
others, are again proving a safeguard against 
heresy of all kinds, and a leaven of sanctification 
in the secular kneading-trough, in corners where 
other influences had not reached In other words, 
almost everybody acknowledges that the Lutheran 
church in Canon City is not superfluous or in- 
efficient. 

Though very few of the women ever had any 
experience in such matters, they organized them- 


THE RED man’s revenge. 32 1 

selves into a society to aid the council in the great 
undertaking. The young people helped. All had 
a mind to work and were fast learning how. To 
them the Church no longer was a grand coach, 
with the pastor alone in the shafts, and the mem- 
bers sitting on cushioned seats and having whips 
in their hands. This had been the old way. But 
a new order of church-activity had been inau- 
gurated, and it is better. Fogy ism had died and 
was now being buried, at least in the West. 

But interfering Sanballats were not wanting, 
either. Also critical and mocking Tobiases were 
found. Always and everywhere there are people 
who never do anything until others move, and 
then they only find fault. The most remarkable 
thing about these hinderers and obstructionists 
is that they have been born without any fore- 
sight whatsoever, but do possess an immense quan- 
tity of useless hind-sight. They never open their 
lips at all, except when others make a mistake 
or experience failure, and then they grow per- 
fectly eloquent with their wise remark, could 
have told you so,” until it becomes as hackneyed 
as old straw. The task of listening to such after- 
thought wiseacres is as pleasant as the chewing of 
worn-out shoes would be to a hungry man. But 
the real builders on the walls of Jerusalem must 


21 


322 THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

not allow anything to discourage them, even if 
they must work with a trowel in one hand and a 
sword in the other. Thus did the people of the 
Church in the frontier town. 

“I seen a ghost! Fritz seen it too!” The 
speaker of these words was covered with perspira- 
tion, and puffing at a great rate. He had run a 
whole mile. It was our old friend, Hans. He had 
been down at the camp of the Pawnees, where, 
strangely enough, lived a white boy of about his 
own age among the Indians. Where he came 
from he had not told any one. He was so Indian- 
ized that but few recognized him as a pale-face. 
His costume and language were those of the red- 
man. But he could speak English, and this led 
to his discovery. Hans, whose ranch-house was 
not more than one mile and a half from the camp, 
struck up a friendship with him. To-day he 
had taken some provisions down in his cart, and 
called on his sister at the doctor’s country resi- 
dence. He and “Turn,” as the Indians called this 
Caucasian among them, had such a good time to- 
gether that he forgot to start homeward in time. 
It soon was dark! As he and Fritz were now 
walking over the unfenced prairie, he noticed 
some object starting up, apparently out of the 
ground, and going away with high but irregular 


THE RED man’s REVENGE. 323 

jumps, and as noiselessly as driving snow. Now 
and then this indefinable thing would stand stock 
still. Then it would abruptly start again. The 
wind, as usual at night, was blowing pretty briskly. 
Suddenly the darkling thing rose up only a few 
rods away. Fritz could not stand it. Whether or 
not he saw it before that moment we never can 
know. At least, he then for the first time took 
alarm and bolted away, tearing himself out of the 
harness and leaving the cart lying on the prairie. 
This frightened Hans, who, up to this time, had 
not been dreaming of fear. With his protector 
gone, courage fled from him. He began to run, 
but soon fell over his own cart, from which he did 
not soon get away. But when he had extricated 
himself, matters were accelerated and he ran for 
dear life. Only once looking back over his 
shoulder, to his horror he found the thing follow- 
ing him ! This apparition put wings to his feet. 
He flew home to his mother, who was at her knit- 
ting, and fell down before her on the floor, at first 
not able to speak. When the power of utterance 
returned, he cried out, ‘‘I seen a ghost! Fritz 
seen it too !” 

His earnestness and physical condition greatly 
alarmed the family, and their agitation was com- 
municated to others. Everybody was convinced 


324 the secret oe the caI^on. 

that the boy had seen something. There could 
not possibly be any doubt on that subject. But 
from his incoherent account no one could con- 
jecture what it might have been. Some one sug- 
gested it only was a trick of the old Indian medi- 
cine man, or prophet. This idea inspired Herman 
Kahn, Samuel Bender, and Olaf Hansen with the 
ambition of investigating this mystery. They 
quietly got their guns. Hans loathed going with 
them. He was dreadfully afraid that the affair 
v/ould in some way bring him into ridicule again. 
He now wished he had not said anything; but 
how could he have done otherwise? But being 
pressed, he led as guide. After stalking their un- 
known and somewhat mysterious game for about 
half a mile, Hans breathlessly pointed to the thing, 
which surely was there, slowly but silently jumping 
toward them, like a small kangaroo. Hans, feel- 
ing that his duty, and all of it, had been performed, 
quickly moved backward towards home. The 
other boys wanted to be brave, and they were. 
They firmly kept their ground, put their guns to 
their shoulders, and cried, “ Halt, or we will shoot ! ” 
But the thing paid no attention to them, but came 
on. “ Surrender !’’ hallooed Olaf. But the thing 
only began to leap more vigorously. This was too 
much for Samuel. “Fire! ” he cried, as he sent a 


THE RED man’s revenge. 325 

bullet through the thing. The other two followed 
suit. They were sure they hit it. But their 
bullets had not in the least checked its progress. 
Nearer it came. Once more the boys fired. Their 
balls had no effect. The thing seemed possessed 
with new life and was coming on apace. And 
now the boys imagine they hear it ! They run, 
but turn to fire once more ; but this useless waste 
of ammunition and marksmanship at night on a 
misty, darkling, airy thing at last had its own 
effect. The boys, without any special deliberation, 
decided to go home faster than they had come. 
They even were mean enough to get to the Kahn 
residence before Hans. Mr. Kahn had a little 
trouble to obtain an uncolored account of their ex- 
ploit, and his comment that “ Dis wuz a schpook 
sure, you bet,” did not in the least alleviate the 
feelings of the boys. They would not believe in 
ghosts, yet they did, somehow. They were not 
superstitious, like foreigners were supposed to be, 
and yet they were. The spectre would not go 
down for them. What was it? 

Our hero-boys were fearful that the military 
authorities might get rumor of their adventure and 
call out a reconnoitering party. Hence they kept 
very quiet. The commandant, however, did not, 
till long afterwards, hear of their night-skirmish 


326 THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

with hobgoblins. But the Indians had heard the 
report of their guns, and were not a little alarmed. 
They also were suspicious, as well as superstitious, 
and imagined the whites might be up to some trick 
to frighten them away. But the old chiefs cau- 
tioned silence and determined to delegate “Turn” 
to find out the cause of the unseasonable fusilade. 
By sending this innocent boy and putting on an 
indifferent countenance themselves, the white 
tricksters would not discover their alarm. The 
ruse worked well. The wily medicine-men knew 
their craft perfectly. 

Bright and early the next morning “Turn,” 
with bow and arrows, was on the way to see Hans, 
and to get some of Mrs. Kahn’s fat-cakes. After 
shooting a hawk and, by accident, planting an 
arrow in Fritz’s thigh, which defeated Hans’ pet 
worse than anything that had ever happened to 
him, “ Turn ” thought it was about time to open 
the subject of his mission. So he began indiffer- 
ently. 

“You have gun, you shoot sometimes, Hunsa?” 

“No, but my brother has,” answered Hans, some- 
what regretfully. 

“Lately shooted he, did he?” and “Turn” 
showed much interest in the expected answer. 

“Yes,” said Hans, with a kind of far-away look. 


THE RED man’s REVENGE. 327 

“I^ast night — he and two other boys fired like 
blazes. So they did.” 

‘ ‘ What ? Antelope — bufialo ? ” 

“Goodness, I doan no,” answered Hans a little 
timidly and shyly ; “ Pop thinks it was a ghost.” 

“ What like was it? You see it, did you?” 

“Oh, yes,” answered Hans. “It was something. 
It jumped, an’ rolled, an’ laid down, an’ was round, 
an’ black, an’ made no noise, but jus came on. 
When you hollered, an’ shot into it, there was no 
stop to it. So we got a move on ourselves, an’ 
dug for skedaddles, you bet.” 

“Turn” shrieked with laughter. His high 
shrill voice rang out gleefully. He had just dis- 
covered a ridiculous cause for the fear of the 
Indians and that of the white boys. To him it was 
double fun. He enjoyed it boisterously. “ Tumble- 
down weed-grass rolls over prairie an’ look like 
spirit-man. The boys shoot it. Ha, hah-a ! All 
Indian — Pawnee — be afraid. Ha, hah-a ! ’ ’ 

In other words, the famous “tumble-weed” of 
the fenceless prairie, which the winds always tear 
off and then roll along until an obstruction is met, 
and whose motions at night do resemble the capers 
of some nocturnal spectre, had caused all this con- 
sternation. Hans quickly communicated “ Turn’s” 
information to the boys, but to no one else. But 


328 THE SECRET OF THE CARON. 

the boys affected to treat with scorn a theory in 
v/hich there was so little heroism. They were not 
satisfied until on another windy night they went 
out without guns, and in the moonlight viewed 
and caught a whole troop of these material elfs of 
the vegetable world. But as convinced as they 
were, just so quiet did they keep. There was no 
glory in having wasted ammunition on the straw 
of a dead weed. 

But “Turn” in a few days again came on 
another errand. This time he was not wary, but 
wild with honest grief. The Sioux ! The Sioux ! 
They come an’ — kill — kill all — men, old men, 
wimmenes, our papooses!” This time Col. Hol- 
man was informed of the boy’s story. Calling out 
his men, he and Canon Jack proceeded down to- 
ward the camp. Never had the oldest veteran 
seen such a sight. It was quickly discovered that 
the bloody Sioux had learned of the unprotected 
band of Pawnees and had pounced upon them like 
wild animals, leaving nothing but a heap of dead 
bodies. Not a soul, except “ Turn ” escaped death. 
Upon inquiry it was found that he had taken 
refuge in the cave, with which we now are 
familiar. 

Canon Jack did find a living Indian baby lying 
in its stiff wooden cradle, near its dying mother. 


THE RED man’s REVENGE. 


329 


He took it up and propped it against the cone- 
hive. “This I will keep for Wapokoneta,” said 
he. He then walked about in the midst of the 
carnage which Indian had wrought upon his 
brother Indian. Never had he seen such bloody 
work. Helpless squaws, innocent children, de- 
fenceless old men, none had found quarter or 
mercy here. Perhaps none had asked for any. In 
the gray of the morning, when the watch was 
over, and the women were lighting the breakfast- 
fires, the dreadful war-whoop of the sleepless, 
revengeful, implacable Sioux broke like a death- 
knell upon the devoted village, whose natural 
defenders were not yet returned from the chase. 
When they did return, the grief of husbands and 
lovers, of sons and brothers, was just as great as if 
their color had been white. But there were no 
tears shed over the bones of their dead. The hot 
hate and consuming feelings of vengeance dried 
them up before they could start from the lachry- 
mal fountains. 

When the soldiers had buried the dead and 
gathered together such goods as remained. Canon 
Jack went to the cave to claim his papoose. Alas, 
the savage mother had not appreciated his kind- 
ness. She had used the last ebbing strength of 
her death-agonies to drag herself to her child and 


330 THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

kill it. She desired that it should go with her to 
the spirit-land rather than that it should fall into 
the hands of the white man. How little she knew 
what was good for her little one ! Perhaps a great 
many other mothers sometimes act thus unreason- 
ably toward the Saviour of their children, when 
He comes for them. Of course, the poor heathen 
squaw did not know any better. She was but 
living up to her stoical religion. 

Among the soldiers who were brought to the 
scene of this massacre, was the same lieutenant 
who had rescued our friends among the buttes of 
Wyoming, and who was present at Cowboy Jim’s 
death. To the astonishment of all, “Turn” re- 
cognized him, but called him “White Hawk,” a 
title the Pawnees had some years before given him. 
The lieutenant also recognized “Turn,” and gave 
his fellow-officers a history of him. 

The reader will recall the woman who, becoming 
crazed at the scene of the massacre near Plum 
Creek, had turned out of the line of “prairie 
schooners,” furiously driving back. It will also 
recur to his mind that a little boy was with her. 
A few weeks afterwards she was found half-dead 
by the Indians. Her little boy was standing by 
her, with their last morsel of food in his hand, try- 
ing to feed her. He was almost starved himself. 


THE RED man’s REVENGE. 


331 

but he was urging her to eat the last crust. She 
soon died. The Indians were pleased with the 
little fellow and adopted him into their tribe. 
That boy was “Turn,” which really means Tom. 
the name he gave them when he was first found. 
In some way the lieutenant had obtained these 
facts, and the boy corroborated them. It was con- 
sidered a strange story. 

But the greatest of all surprises for the officers 
occurred when the lieutenant walked into the cave, 
opened a secret receptacle in the clay floor and 
took out of it a Bible, a newspaper, and the photos 
of Canon Jack, “Old Snide,” as he called him, and 
“the reverend Joseph Weissman,” as the writing 
on the back of it indicated This was indeed a 
mystery of the canon. 

It was not known to most of the company that 
such a man as Bieutenant' Witherol, as he was 
called, ever had been in these parts in the early 
days. None but a few of the original settlers had 
so much as heard of this cave. Hence the know- 
ledge of it which the lieutenant displayed struck 
many as peculiar. 

Some even were inclined to suspect him of be- 
ing in a secret which he ought to reveal. If so, 
he remained as quiet about it to-day as the hive 
itself. The time had not yet come. 


CHAPTER XXIL 


LAST GLIMPSES. 

To Canon Jack the act of the lieutenant was no 
discovery. He had long known that these articles, 
together with a written history in detail of the 
horse-stealing affair in Pawnee County, in which 
Snide was the principal figure, were in a tin box 
in the floor of the bee-hive cave, or Robin Hood’s 
Palace, as Dr. Porter used to call it. He had seen 
them placed there, and was the chief interpreter of 
the mystery in which they were involved. 

But the day was drawing near when this inter- 
esting personage, who has furnished us not a little 
entertainment and instruction, would leave Canon 
City never to be seen in it again. The interests 
of his life would hereafter be elsewhere. 

To look upon a face, even a tree, or landscape, 
knowing it is for the last time, is a painful experi- 
ence. With such feelings. Canon Jack one day 
rode through the streets of the city and out into 
the country, as far as Sioux Lookout. Riding 
upon the summit of that pile of prominent bluffs, 

(332) 


LAST GLIMPSES. 


333 


lie took his position on the pinnacle of the weird 
formation and gazed long over a well-known 
stretch of country. From there he could look over 
many miles of his old stamping-grounds, which he 
would soon leave forever. There was now the 
brisk western city, with its church-steeples and 
shops, and other industrial and mercantile build- 
ings, and many homes (the new Lutheran church 
adding architectural beauty to the whole), and all 
this where once he beheld only the bleak prairie, 
roamed over by herds of bison and howling coyotes. 
Often he had discovered the wily Sioux on this 
very summit, watching a moving caravan below, 
ready, if the affair promised success, to pounce 
upon it for murder and booty. How often he him- 
self, by timely warning, had thwarted the red bar- 
barian’s bloody purpose, also occurred to him now. 
Thus, with arms folded over his breast, still wear- 
ing his broad whitish sombrero, his black hair 
falling in ringlets over his strong shoulders, much 
as he appeared the first time we saw him, he is 
sitting in the saddle, while his horse is grazing, 
and is sadly contemplating the scene before him. 
It is the last time he will look upon these familiar 
objects. It is the last time we shall see him. He 
would be a fine figure for an artist to sketch. But 
we must reluctantly leave him wrapt up in his 


own memories. 


334 secret of the ca5?on. 

Another old friend, of whom we now must take 
leave, is Col. Holman, who so faithfully served his 
country and also gave his influence to other good 
causes. As a patriot and a moral man he left a 
salutary impression upon his fellows that is 
indelible. His men never heard him swear or saw 
him drunk. Often he was among the worshipers 
in church. Among men he was a hero ; among 
ladies, a true knight ; among all, a gentleman. 

As soon as the cowardly agents of the Pawnee 
massacre were ascertained, he received permission 
to punish them, or at least to ferret out their 
hiding place. With several hundred men he 
started in pursuit. For three weeks they were lost 
to civilization. During that time not a word was 
heard of them by their comrades at the Fort. 
There was great uncertainty regarding their fate, 
many thinking they had fallen under the same 
revenge which had so nearly wiped out the Paw- 
nees, whose few surviving warriors also accom- 
panied this expedition. But the worst fatality that 
happened to his troops came upon the colonel 
from an almost unheard-of source. 

One evening he encamped in a dry canon. 
Clouds were overcasting the sky, but no rain fell 
in the neighborhood. As the weather was warm, 
very little fire had been made. The men spread 


LAST GLIMPSKS. 


335 


their blankets on the ground, but did not cover 
themselves. Almost all were soon soundly sleep- 
ing in the inky darkness. About midnight the 
picket-guards heard the roaring of many waters, as 
if in the distance a great rain-storm was raging. 
But they did not dream of any harm coming to 
them or their sleeping comrades, as long as every- 
thing about them was as dry as a powder-horn. 

But all at once a flood of water, four feet deep, 
came rushing down the canon and over the camp. 
In a few minutes everybody was struggling for his 
life. Panic took possession of the horses. They 
were plunging for the banks and trying to scale 
them. Some succeeded, but others fell back and 
swam with the current. The whole canon soon 
became a whirlpool of confusion. Men, horses, 
and military equipage were indistinguishably 
mixed up in the rising torrent. If it had been 
light, a laughable ducking would have been the 
only personal inconvenience to the men, but in the 
darkness it was diflScult to find exit from the 
dangerous trap. As yet no rain was falling in this 
locality. All the wood on the dead cedar-tops was 
dry as tinder ; if only it could be gotten, a fire could 
be built. On one of these trees Col. Holman 
climbed for safety. He had made his pillow at the 
foot of it. Hence when the chilling water awoke 


33^ the secret of the ca5^on. 

him, in his frantic effort to save himself from 
drowning, he clutched the lower branches and 
drew himself up. Once there he called to his men 
on the bank, which he recalled was near, to light a 
fire, meanwhile casting out to them such wood as 
he could break off*. In a short time some unsung 
cavalier was pulling grass to start a beacon-light 
by which his fellows might guide their steps to 
safety. In this singular incident only a few lives 
were lost ; but one can see how easily the entire 
command could have found a watery grave. Col. 
Holman never was a nobler hero than when he was 
pulling off* sticks and throwing them out for the 
bonfire. From the tree-top he was giving orders 
which were turning the soldiers into a life-saving 
corps. 

Not until the sun rose next morning could he 
reach the dry prairie. Some of the drowned men 
could never be found. But the command halted 
long enough to give honorable burial to all the 
bodies that could be recovered. It was a solemn 
service. The colonel really worried over the loss 
of these unfortunate men more than if they had 
been killed in battle. He made up his mind to 
find out whether the like of such an accident had 
ever before happened on the plains. This one 
should serve as a warning in all future military 


LAST GLIMPSES. 337 

movements. Thus we should profit by the misfor- 
tunes of others. 

As soon as all were ready, he told the Pawnee 
allies to discover the enemy and he would see to it 
that his soldiers would fight them. This they 
agreed to do. Having given the order to move, he 
and his men rode away to do their duty. 

While the United States troopers were thus un- 
dergoing their weary marches to drive the last 
mischievous Sioux from the soil of Nebraska, one 
specimen of the cruel nation, in civilized attire, 
was attracting considerable attention in Canon 
City. He was a young man of strong build and 
intelligent face, though his features bore the prom- 
inent marks of his people. His cheek-bones were 
broad and high, his color copper, though some- 
what modified by in-door life, and his nose like an 
eagle’s, while his crow-black hair was cropped 
short. He speaks English well and knows a trade. 
Best of all, he is a Christian believer, and is found 
in church every Sunday. This young Indian will 
never again live by the chase, will never again 
walk about in skins and blanket, will never scalp 
v/hite men, nor apply the torch to their dwellings. 
He v/ill make an honorable livelihood and prove 
such a factor in civilization as to aid much in solv- 
ing the puzzling Indian problem of our country. 


22. 


338 the secret of the CARON. 

This young man is Wapokoneta. He has been 
educated in an eastern school, where he learned a 
trade. He was one of the first examples of our 
Government’s experiment to exchange the policy 
of extermination for that of education. 

In the present case the result was a living recom- 
mendation of the new order of things. Wapo- 
koneta sought his ragged heathen mother, induced 
her to forsake her squalid manner of life, and pro- 
vided a good home for her. On his part this 
involved no little self-sacrifice, as she was a dull 
cook with respect to civilized dishes, and did not 
take kindly to cleanliness. Finally, as the result 
of her former exposed manner of existence and 
hardships, she became a consumptive. Matters in 
housekeeping would have gone from bad to worse 
for Wapokoneta, if it had not been for another 
member of his race, and one who was a credit to it. 

With him in school had been a young Indian 
girl by the name of “Bright Eyes.” When 
“ Bright Eyes ” was graduated, she went back to 
her tribe in Dakota. She still had wild parents 
and a sister. In the old tent there had been no 
changes. Life went on as it had done before. 
The habits and circumstances, the barbarism, were 
the same. But “Bright Eyes” had undergone a 
revolution, and this she painfully realized when 


LAST GLIMPSES. 


339 


she came to the old tepee. Her sister, too, saw and 
felt the change in “ Bright Eyes ” keenly. As a re- 
sult, the first time the sisters lodged together, the 
one wept all night because she was educated and 
the other wept all night because she was not. But 
the melancholy problem was solved by Wapo- 
koneta. Knowing where Bright Eyes” had 
gone, and deeply feeling the need of her, he one 
day started across the plains to Dakota to satisfy 
his heart and to get a nurse for his sick mother. 
While he was away on his long trip, Nora McCabe 
and others attended to the few wants of the invalid 
squaw, who was ever lamenting. “I hab a bad 
heart; I no good, I no good,” by which she scarcely 
meant more than that she was a helpless consump- 
tive. But at last Wapokoneta arrived with his 
Indian bride, and in the gush of his happiness he 
did not know what else to do but to write to Canon 
Jack, who sent hearty congratulations. Thousands 
of civilized red-skins are now living in happy 
homes, like Wapokoneta, and thus proving that 
we are trying to atone for the many wrongs that 
these people have in the past suffered at our hands. 

In the Eutheran congregation a great change 
has taken place. It now worships in a new brick 
church with a noble tower. The first Easter ser- 
vice in it was a magnificent and an impressive 


340 THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 

affair. It was the last time that Mr. Weissman 
appeared in the pulpit. He felt that the pioneer’s 
work was done, and that the time had come for 
younger hands to take it up. But once more he 
enlisted the mechanical genius and decorative 
talent among the young people to adorn the church 
for Easter. A bank of flowers surmounted by a 
white cross was a thing of beauty. The snowy 
calla-lilies were silently eloquent of the resurrec- 
tion-hope. Everywhere rested the smiles of God. 

Never was the old pastor happier. His suc- 
cessor, a young man who with his heroic wife had 
just come from the East, was present and preached 
for the first time in the evening, not as a mission- 
ary, but as the minister of a self-sustaining congre- 
gation. It had been necessary for the Board to 
keep this mission on its funds only for a few years, 
and then it was ready for self-support. 

The Easter service was the occasion of an im- 
portant ingathering. In a class of sixteen young 
people, who appeared at the altar for confirmation, 
we see such well-known faces as those of Samuel 
and Ruth Bender, Olaf and Christine Hansen, 
Thea Opsal, Herman and Theresa Kahn. It being 
now ten years since we first saw these young 
friends, we are not surprised to find that they have 
changed a great deal. They are no longer chil- 


LAST GLIMPSES. 


341 


dren, but gentlemen and ladies, and all graduates 
of the local high-school. The young men have 
attained their majority and can vote. Samuel is a 
student at the university, and some think he will 
follow the example of Mr. Kuhl, who has become 
a minister and will soon take a church. Of the 
young ladies, Christine Hansen, Thea Opsal, and 
Theresa Kahn are teachers in the city schools. 
Thus the young people of our foreign congrega- 
tions are solving the educational and social 
problems for us. They are fast coming to the 
front. If we take care of the parents, the children 
will take care of themselves. 

One of the most encouraging, as well as im- 
pressive parts of this service, was the baptism of 
Mrs. Dr. Porter, our old friend “Miss Smiley.” 
Her husband standing beside her, she received that 
ordinance of initiation into the Christian Church, 
which her own Quaker ancestors had denied her. 
These two were the first fruits from those who 
were not from Germanic stock. For a long time it 
almost was taken for granted that the Lutheran 
Church had no mission among the Anglo-Saxon 
elements of our American population. But history 
shows that the old Church of the Reformation has 
not only given much to others, but also received 
much from them. Happy that denomination which 


342 thk secret of the caI^on. 

can in its membership unite Anglo-Saxon aggres- 
siveness with Germanic contemplative'ness, and 
consecrate both to the service of Christ in the sal- 
vation of the world. 

We have now followed our homeless and church- 
less immigrant friends from their eventful life in 
the “prairie schooner” to the happy homestead 
and the established life of a congregation in a 
beautiful temple of their own. From the room in 
the windmill to a fine brick sanctuary was a long, 
hard road of progress. The small nucleus of faith- 
ful souls has undergone a wonderful development. 
Where but few at first understood English, now 
nothing else is spoken. Those who then were the 
children of the Sunday-school, now conduct the 
prayer-meeting and teach the classes. Whereas 
formerly but one or two members of the church 
could be teachers, now none but members are 
teachers. Before, the church was a pensioner, re- 
ceiving help, now it is a contributor to the funds 
that aid others. Its usefulness is felt in Asia and 
Africa. 

All over the great West a work and development 
similar to that at Canon City is going on. The 
spiritual desert is beginning to blossom as the rose. 
Everywhere the springs of a godly life are bursting 
through the hard sod of worldliness. Home mis- 


LAST GLIMPSES. 


343 


sions is the best paying investment of the Church, 
as well as the Church’s incomparable service of 
patriotism. 

We may feel sure that Mr. and Mrs. Bender’s cup 
of joy was full on this blessed Kaster-day. Their 
heart’s desire was now fulfilled; though their work 
was not yet over, they could now sometimes sit 
down and look on while others were toiling. Their 
souls are resting in peace, and in the light of the 
earthly church home, for which they labored and 
prayed so long, they will wait for the summons 
which is to call them to the heavenly rest, where 
they will not be strangers. 

We will not follow the history of Mr. Weissman’s 
successor. He is vigorous and enthusiastic, but, of 
course, has much to learn. Having been set afire by 
the Secretary’s glowing reports, his imagination 
may have painted mission life on the frontier in 
roseate colors. He may be too romantic in his ideas 
of it. But all those defects of inexperience will in 
due time correct themselves. We are glad to say 
that Hans Kahn and ‘‘Turn” have taken to him. 
They are regularly at church and Sunday-school. 
These two, with Martin Huther Bender, Dorothea 
Kahn, and Hulda Lindborg will enter the next class 
of catechumens. 

The young pastor has taken a great interest in 


344 secret of the CAf^ON. 

Wapokoneta and Bright Eyes. They attend church 
now. He has also called out a young Jewish girl, 
who sometimes plays the organ in the Sunday- 
school. He thus seems to meet all classes on the 
common ground of a broad humanity, and this qual- 
ity promises a successful ministry. 

Mr. Weissman and his good wife are living a 
quiet life with their devoted son John. We have 
seen that the great sorrow of their life had been the 
loss of their boys who, too young for the military 
service, had, during the Rebellion, come with an 
uncle to Pawnee County, Nebraska. Soon after- 
wards the uncle died. The boys, John and George, 
were in the employ of Mr. Snide. But upon the 
death of their only relative in the West, they deter- 
mined to go home again. To prevent such good 
employees from leaving him, the wily fox forged a 
letter, declaring that their parents were dead and 
buried, and had it mailed to them from their home- 
office. This deception succeeded. Having but few 
other relatives, the boys decided not to return until 
they had accumulated some property. The letter, 
to which was signed the name of a good friend of 
their family, assured them that he, the executor 
mentioned in their father’s will, would within two 
years settle up the estate and send them the patri- 
mony. This was satisfactory to them. But we have 


I.AST GLIMPSES. 


345 


seen into what meshes, to save himself, their selfish 
employer wove them, so that they almost were 
lynched for his crime. 

After their escape through the friendship and 
skill of Canon Jack, they hid for a time in the cave 
we have already so often mentioned. But this soon 
proved to be a station of the under-ground railroad, 
by means of which the band of horse-thieves, of 
which Snide was chief, transported the stolen 
animals out of the state into Kansas. Being no 
longer safe there, they buried such things as might 
identify them, in the floor, and went to Wyoming, 
where John had become a ranchman, then a miner, 
and then a ranchman again, and George enlisted 
in the regular army. 

We have already described how Mr. Weissman 
was discovered by John. We have also told Cow- 
boy Jim’s story of how another soldier, by the name 
of George Weissman was foully dealt with in Snide’s 
saloon. That account was correct. The military 
authorities finally discovered the grave in the cellar, 
but it was after the raid upon the gamblers, and the 
body had been removed. It had been teintered on 
the banks of the slough, where, as already related, 
Canon Jack accidently discovered it. 

For some time John Weissman himself had lost 
track of his brother and mourned him for dead. 


346 


THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON. 


As for his parents, they had ceased to look for him 
in this world. The reader may now call to mind 
that before Cowboy Jim breathed his last, he 
called together John and the lieutenant that had 
rescued them at the buttes. There the brothers 
met and recognized each other. In other words. 
Lieutenant Witherol was George Weissman. He 
had but translated his name from its German 
into an Anglo-Saxon form — Hwit-eorl equals 
Weissman. 

We did not try to describe the joy of the parents 
at discovering that this boy also was yet alive. 
But several more years elapsed before they could 
see him, as he could get no furlough. But when 
he did, they had to meet him secretly, as it would 
not have been well for an officer of the army to 
be found with an assumed name. Even after he 
was stationed at Ft. McPherson, they called him, 
before others. Lieutenant Witherol, but in the 
sacred and secret home-circle he was addressed 
only as “George,” nothing more. 

The old Fort is now a ruin. Only a line of 
broken stones and mortar marks the place where 
its buildings used to stand. Only the old-timers 
can point out to the traveler where the horse- 
stables, the barracks, the hospital, the scout’s 
house, the steward’s home, the general’s quarters, 


LAST GLIMPSES. 


347 


and Col. Holman’s cottage, once stood. Dreariness 
and melancholy reign, crickets chirp, owls flutter, 
and thistles blow, where once was a busy scene of 
frontier life. But we trust that the story of the 
civilization of which it was the harbinger, has not 
been uninteresting to the reader. In this narrative 
truth has again appeared stranger than fiction. 
The frontier has disappeared, but Christian civil- 
ization abides forever. The Fort is gone, but the 
church remains. The pioneer dies, but not his 
work. That goes on forever. 










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